#tools really came in clutch here

[dailyhatsune]

the moon still sleeps

[star-girl69]

Fade Into You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you fell first, but clarisse fell harder. requested by anonymous!

a/n: decided to feed y’all today….. two fics i’m a monster that just creates and creates. this was so funny bc i kept accidentally writing angst and i had to stop myself. they’re allowed to have crushes on each other. it’s ok. this was hard anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

warnings: just so cutesy, swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood and injury, soft clarisse i looooovvvvveeeeee you, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Your chest heaves. You’ve never ran that fast or that far before in your life. Your satyr protector runs ahead to get the healers, and you crash against some random building- a tool shed, maybe?

You groan, crouching down to clutch at your lower leg sporting a large gash running blood. You don’t remember how it happened. Maybe it was when you fell? You could have sliced it open on an unfortunately sharp stick.

You don’t even want to think about the fact that the stupid monster thing chasing you could have gotten close enough to claw at you.

“Hey, hey,” someone says, crouching down next to you. She’s wearing an orange shirt. Her hair is curly, her eyes are pretty and brown, and oxygen isn’t getting to your brain so she kind of seems like an angel. “Oh, wow,” she mutters, looking at your leg. “One second, ‘kay?”

“Wait,” you say, grabbing onto her forearm. She looks up at you.

“I’m going two steps away, dummy.” She laughs, and you’ll remember that sound for the rest of your life.

She leaves you, and you almost want to cry because you feel so alone. You’ve just been told you’re a demigod, then you were forced to run through the woods, your heart is still hammering and your leg fucking burns.

But she was right. It was only two steps, and she comes back, the door of what must be some sort of storage shutting behind her.

She leans back down and presses a towel against your gash.

You hiss.

“Sorry,”

“You’re not.” She laughs again. More beautiful music in your ears.

“I’m not,” she agrees.

You fall into silence, it’s so dark out, but you can see everything about her so clearly.

“You can stop breathing so heavily,” she whispers, the shouting of your satyr protector getting closer, along with what must be the healers. “Camp Half-Blood is surrounded by a magical barrier. You’re safe here. Well, at least, no monsters are gonna get you.

“O-okay,” you mumble. You aren’t sure if you believe her. You don’t think you believe anything anymore.

The healers push her away, you’re so so tired, and she stands up, dusting off her hands.

“Thank you, Clarisse,” one of the healers says. “We’ll take it from here.”

Clarisse.

—-

The purpose of Clarisse La Rue’s entire existence seems to be to drive you insane.

The way her arms flex when she wields her spear, the way she lifts her shirt up to dab at sweat on her brow; and the way you can see her toned stomach and the faintest hint of abs you would actually kill to touch. The way she smiles, even though it’s never really genuine, and the way she laughs when she’s making fun of someone.

She was the first person you met at camp, and you’re pretty sure she doesn’t even remember it, yet alone know your name.

It was ironic, as the daughter of Aphrodite, to be quietly pining over someone from the distance. And it sucked, but maybe you would just always have this quiet crush on Clarisse, and you learned to take it like you took your breakfast.

Until the start of this summer, when everyone came back to camp, it was alive again, and it all changed. And now you’re fucked.

—-

You smile, watching a few of the younger campers scream about how amazing the lake is. Summer’s just started. It’s so beautiful this time of year. They didn’t have as traumatic experiences as you, no monsters chased them right up to the barrier of camp. The lake is huge and so blue it seems otherworldly- probably because it is.

You slam into something.

It’s an awkward flare of limbs and muttered obscenities, but you manage to keep yourself upright by falling back into a very convenient tree.

“Sorry,” you say, looking up and expecting to make eye contact with anyone but her.

You haven’t been face to face with Clarisse in four years. You mouth snaps shut, and you’re sure you look like a terrified deer in headlights.

She’s frozen just like you.

“W-watch where you’re going,” she hisses, pushing you farther into the tree as she walks past you.

Did Clarisse just stutter?

—-

Clarisse stares at you.

You blush like you’re about to turn into a flamingo.

The cycle repeats.

—-

This year, the Ares and Aphrodite cabins were paired together to share the field for sword practice just before dinner. The sun is hidden by the trees, providing some nice shade as you frown at all the Ares kids sparring like their lives depend on it.

While Aphrodite kids are not the most naturally skilled in fighting, you’re still demigods, and you still have to know how to protect yourselves.

Matty, a Ares child and your sister Tyla’s boyfriend, already sparred three times, winning against his siblings, then sparred with Tyla once; which just ended with her getting bored after a minute and dropping her sword before jumping into his arms.

You watch random people spar. Everyone moves around you, Tyla and Matty are on top of each other next to you on the bench, everyone walks around you to collect their water bottles from the table behind you.

“Aren’t you gonna spar, Y/N?” Tyla asks, fiddling with Matty’s hands.

“No,” you laugh.

“That’s against the rules.”

You know that voice, you hear that annoyingly angelic voice in your dreams.

Clarisse sits down next to you. You can hear Tyla smiling. Only a few of your siblings who can be trusted to keep a secret know about your wretched crush. You’re probably blushing.

“Uh, what?” you say, looking in her direction but not risking actually looking at her.

“You have to spar,” she says, like it’s painfully obvious, kicking out her legs.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” you shrug.

“Sounds like you’re scared, Y/N,” Matty muses.

You shoot him a bored look. “Sounds like you’re whipped, Matty.”

Tyla is currently in Matty’s lap, her hands in his hair.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, turning towards Tyla with a sweet smile on his face and she coos and immediately attaches her face to his.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter, turning away from the two of them having borderline sex on the bench.

Clarisse laughs.

You clench your fist, you feel like you’re gonna explode being so close to her and not able to climb up into her lap and kiss her like a woman starved.

“You still have to spar, you know.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Hm, no. I won’t have to.”

You finally look towards her, if only because you’re confused, but she’s looking straight out at the the distance, where a certain centaur is making his way to the fields-

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, immediately jumping up and scrambling for a sword from the pile behind you.

You turn around, hoping one of your siblings is free so you can spar with them-

The sword is ripped out of your hands.

“That one sucks,” Clarisse says, simply, while you stand there with your mouth open. She rifles through the swords. “Use this one instead.”

The one she hands you does seem a lot easier to hold. Not too heavy, not too light.

How the hell could she tell which one is best for you just by looking at you?

“Matty,” Clarisse says. “Chiron’s coming.”

Tyla and Matty both hop up, giggling at they make their way towards one of the marked circles.

As you’re left there with Clarisse, it suddenly hits you that after four years of simple indifference, she’s talking to you like she knows you. Or like she wants to know you.

You like her too much to question it. You want her too much to be bothered as to why she’s giving you five minutes of her time.

Clarisse walks away. You thought it was going to happen, so your heart feels this sort of heavy that is indescribable, but she turns around.

“Are you coming?” she asks, deadpan.

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you say, sticking your sword under your arm and cracking your knuckles. With Chiron showing up, she leads you to the marked circle all the way at the edge of the field, the start of the woods, the very last one.

She stops and turns around, this sort of nonchalant but smug look on her face. She reaches forward and bats your hands away from each other with a single swat that leaves you so shocked from the feeling of her skin on hers that your hands fall to your sides.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt ‘em.”

Here, right in front of the trees, the sun shining through the gaps shines off of Clarisse’s tan skin and her bronze armor in a way that makes her look otherworldly.

Clarisse’s that kind of pretty where you just never want to stop staring at her. The kind of pretty where you just want to fade into her and be next to her; the kind of pretty where nothing compares to her but it just watches her too.

Like the sun behind her, it isn’t jealous, it just admires her and shines off her skin.

She’s smirking at you, her knees bending into an offensive position, her spear pointing at you.

“He’s watching,” she taunts, and you’re really not in the mood for a lecture and the loss of dessert privileges, so you copy her.

“I’m not the best-”

She spins forward, spear arcing toward you. You yelp, raising your sword up to block her spear. They slam together.

“You’ll do fine,” she smiles, so smug in a way that makes you want to slap her and kiss her all at once.

“Whatever,” you mumble as she pulls back.

But you feel a little more confident with her praise, launching a surprise attack. She seems a little shocked, but she blocks it, probably a bit closer than normal.

“Feisty,” she murmurs.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

She launches her own attack, more force behind it this time, and it’s harder to stop her, but you do, you push her back.

“It means you’re exactly like I thought you were.”

You frown, because what is she even saying, but she launches another attack, smiling brightly as you block it, her eyes never leaving your form.

It’s a blurry of your heartbeat in your ears, her smile, the clash of her spear and your sword, the rest of the field coming to life with the sound of metal on metal, wins and losses.

Your arm is growing heavy.

But you keep your eyes open, blocking her attacks and waiting for an opening you’re not sure will ever come.

Finally, she reveals her side, and you swing, your sword clanging as it hits her metal armor.

She looks down at your sword and then you.

When she looks up again, it’s never the same.

—-

“Did you let me win that first day?”

You’re in the woods with her, so many months after that first day, and it all still feels like it was yesterday. You’re laying on a blanket on the soft grass, facing each other, limbs tangled together and her arm around you.

“Hm?” she says, slightly sleepy.

“When we sparred?”

“Oh,” she smiles, yawns. “Yeah, I let you win.”

You gasp and hit her arm.

“Clar, that’s, like, horrible. Our relationship was built on lies.”

You’re the only person allowed to call her that.

She frowns. “It wasn’t. What are you talking about?”

“I was gloating over you for months, and you let me-”

“Okay, but, you still won. I just helped you a bit. That’s what a good girlfriend should do.”

“You were not my girlfriend then.”

“Yeah, but you wanted me to be. For how long? Four years?”

You roll yours eyes. “You bumped into me once and then became obsessed with me.”

She smiles against you as she kisses your forehead.

“Who wouldn’t?” she snorts. “Not my fault you bumped into me in a way no one else ever has, angel.”

“My love language is just bumping into people, I think.”

“Then you can’t bump into anybody but me. Or else I’d kill them, probably.”

“A true romantic.”

She wraps her arms around you, muscles flexing as she pulls you on top of her.

“Only for you, angel,” she says, eyes falling closed again. “‘M cold, be my blanket.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all rough and tough?”

“Can’t be with you,” she yawns. “Love you too much. Now shush. I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“You big baby,” you mumble. “Big bad Clarisse needs to fall asleep with her girlfriend and get her full eight hours or else she’ll go on a rampage.”

“Damn right.”

Clarisse is the type of pretty that just makes you wanna fade into her. And you do, in the light of the rising moon, the light of the fading sun. You fade into her.

—-

y/n when clarisse helps her on her first day: wow, an angel 😍😍

clarisse when y/n bumps into her: wow, an angel 😍😍

ALSO CLARISSE CALLING Y/N ANGEL???? I THINK I’VE FOUND MY NEW OBSESSION Y’ALL

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies

[ashersanity]

Introducing that weird doctor that cums all over your face while you’re under anesthesia..!

YANDERE! HARPER

asher, please stop it already..

Thought we already knew the rules here, unless you want me to go over them again?

content warning! mentions of dub-con/non-con, manipulation and gaslighting, somnophilia, hypnosis, baby trapping, motherfucker drinks your fluids, nasty.

pc and harper are gender neutral as always unless explicitly stated otherwise.

extra note : thank you for your work @digenerate-trash

“My, my. Came to see me again? What a coincidence.”

yandere type : manipulative, two-faced, obsessive, possessive

Owns a certain collection of photos of you, a.. particular one to say the least. Do they really need to be focusing precisely on your ass every single time that they snap a picture of your nude body? No, not really, still does it however. Saves it for later, as in whenever they’re feeling a little pent up after a long, stressful day of being a totally ethical doctor, of course! Hands busy beneath the desk, stroking and rubbing away as they stare at that wonderful shot of your backside on the computer’s screen. Always manages to make a mess of themselves somehow, grumbling beneath their breath now that they have to change attire. It’s all your fault, silly.

Constantly makes sure that you’re not feeling entirely well. Oh, what’s this? Your skin suddenly feels all tingly and warm? What a surprise, looks like you need to stay with Doctor Harper for a while to get that checked out. Oh, you have a fever? And a real bad one at that. What a shame, huh.. You don’t even get to see the way their lips curl up into a smile whenever you visit, utterly giddy that you’re coming back to them once again and you’re here to stay. Obviously, Harper will make sure of it.

Overly touchy with you, babbling about how you’re their favorite patient, claiming you’re so well-behaved with them compared to the others they treat. Gloved hand trailing over your soft lips, finger gently pushing inside your warm mouth once more, says they need to inspect your tongue for any signs of illness. Eyes framed behind glasses, fixated on the way your saliva melds over their digits. Shit, how they wish they could just slip those stupid gloves off of their hands and feel the real thing against their skin. Well, it’s not like they won’t get the chance to do that soon enough..

What a good doctor Harper is, sanitizing their tools right after you used them. The method of cleaning? Um.. Perhaps their tongue does dart out of their mouth to lick and suck away at the used wooden stick that they stuck inside your mouth just moments ago. How nasty, huh? Can’t help themselves though, you taste sooo good. Look at that, all those delicious fluids that you’re leaving right behind for them. Doing this on purpose, aren’t you? No worries, they’ll make sure to drink from the source directly next time.

Feeds you and assigns you the weirdest of medicine. What does this pill do, doctor? Is it going to help me? Of course, it will. Just try it out right now, slip in between your lips, watch on as your body slowly warms up, heat rushing throughout your entire figure, flushed cheeks and gasping breath. Would you look at that.. Clutching at Harper’s white coat, fabric twisting in your hands, begging for you to touch them. Needy for Harper’s touch? They’re happy to oblige, why shouldn’t they? It’s only a doctor’s job to..

What’s that creaking sound that you hear in your room at night? Uh, it’s nothing, promise! Ignore the shadow that looms over you in the dark, clear outline of Harper’s frame towering over your sleeping form, blissfully ignorant as to what they’re doing. Ignore the sound of their belt unbuckling/skirt lifting up to reveal their moistened sex, already so goddamn horny for you alone. It’s not their fault, you just look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable to their forbidden touches, slender fingers gently caressing your bare skin.. So pretty.

Not letting any other doctor treat you. It’s always Harper who’s here to help you in time of need, how weird, huh? Must be fate as they call it. Frowns at the idea of you being alone with another nurse in the room, wanting you to themselves. Word going around that it’s the doctor’s orders to be the only one to treat you, touch you. You’re a ‘special’ case, they insist, special in their eyes for sure. It really looks like Harper is the only one deserving to be by your side.

Wants you to be utterly devoted to them in every way possible, doesn’t matter if they’re doing it through hypnosis, pen swinging back and forth in front of your eyes. Comforted by their warm embrace around your frame, hushing you and whispering into your ear. How Harper yearns for you to utter those four (three too) magical words to them, lips parting to speak them. “I love you, Harper.” and “I’m yours, Harper.” The doctor smiling at that, you’re being genuine about it, aren’t you? You truly do feel nothing but affection for them! Yeah.. Jesus christ, this shit head is delusional.

Wouldn’t hesitate to baby trap you, doesn’t matter the gender. M!Harper inserting a sterilized needle right into your womb if you happen to be !AFAB. Same goes for F!Harper with !AMAB, slowly jerking you off in your sleep, maybe if she’s feeling bold enough, which she probably is, rides your length, loving the way your cock stretches her cunt out so well. “Accidentally” forgets to pull out, your thick, precious seed shooting deep inside her own womb. If you share the same genitals? It’s all the same to them, they’re figuring out a way to get you to believe that you’re sharing a baby through hypnosis, permanently stuck with them now.

Gaslights you into thinking you need them. Arms wrapped around your frame, guiding you along to your room and would you look at that, it seems you have a bit of trouble walking. Now, they have to be near you at all times, it’s only their job as a medic, right? Spoon feeding you during breakfast and dinner time, doesn’t care for the weird glances that attracts from the other patients at the asylum, it’s only natural after all.. Cmon, you’re completely helpless without the doctor! You poor thing.. Don’t worry, Harper is here to help, here to stay by your side forever and forever. For eternity.

Surprisingly so, I actually like the silly little doctor despite the fact that they molest my pc at the asylum on a daily basis. Must be apart of their job description or something. Funny.

Coming up next, Yandere! Bailey!

If we’re being honest here, I’d let Harper ride me so bad, I know that harpussy is tight as fu—

[END OF POST]

[thegreatestsandwich]

i LOVE your namor fics and how soft you portray him! i dont even want kids but they got me looking up baby videos on tiktok 😂😂 i was wondering if i could request? i like to imagine namor spending some time in the surface world with reader, maybe something showing him being domestic? im sorry im not very creative lol im sure you know what im getting at. thank you so much!! 🫡🥰

When the sun came up, you were looking at me (Namor x F!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: He showed you a part of himself he chose to hide from the others.

Warning: Nothing really, well I really don’t think there is a warning, just fluff or my idea of fluff

A/N: I'm back!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received!  

You clenched the basket you were carrying, your knuckles white and your breath locked in your lungs as you made your way towards your king’s cavern. You were nervous and afraid, you barely made it through the soft current that guide you upwards, if it was for another reason you would be thrilled to see him. But when the message came from Attuma, his second in command, that changed everything.

You let out your breath when you almost got out of the water, one of your hands quickly went to dig out your mask from the basket you were carrying, quickly putting it on and adjusting it correctly before finally stepping out of the water.

This wasn’t the first time you were invited to his cavern, you were designated to bring him some food if he spent the majority of his time here. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the cold air that surrounded you. Quickly blinking away some tears that formed when your eyes became a little too dry. Your hands hugged the basket closer to your body as you slowly walked to the entrance. Even if you hadn’t yet to enter, you could still distinguish his figure, his focus away from you.

You stretched your shoulders, stopping at the entrance, it had been a few days since Attuma had delivered the message, you knew you needed to see him as quickly as possible but you managed to postponed it, until the older women forced you to finally confront the king.

Your hand knocked against the stone wall, the softest sound that made the king stopped his actions to turned and put his attention on your figure. You swallowed when his intense dark eyes greeted you.

“Ta p'ataj a k'iin.” You took your time. He stood up, silently putting his tools on the ground before making his way to you. “Ts'o'ok in pensado u ma' ten taal.” I have thought you were not coming.

Your eyes stayed glued to your basket, too afraid to even look at him. “In akaljantik.” I’m sorry. You gulped. “In akaljantik, K'uk'ulkan, ma' táan u yúuchul.” I’m sorry, K’uk’ulkan, it won’t happened again.

He hummed, his hands went to your jaw, gently caressing it before softly guiding your gaze to look at him, you were hoping to find anger on his eyes, but you almost gasp at how gentle they were. “A llamé waye' tumen ba'al, chan.” I called you here for something, little one. “Ba'al Páaybe'en.” Something important.

Namor’s hands let your face for a moment, his form fully turn away from you, leaving you a bit confuse. He walked towards one of the several baskets, pulling out a small yellow flower. Your eyes widened in fear, fully knowing where it come from. He turned to you, the flower firmly on his fist, his dark eyes were inspecting it and the silence made you tremble with fear.

“Namora ka tu kaxtaj ti' a ba'alo'ob,” Namora found it on your things. He didn’t look at you, his fingers playing with the several petals that covered it. “Le ba'ala' ma' pertenece u k noj, u tsool, chan.” This does not belong in our city, explain, little one.

A sick feeling filled your stomach as you clutched the basket closer to your body, the words couldn’t even form on your tongue, even though million of excuses were forming on your head. What could you say? That you made your way to the surface? That you were so selfish that you broke the rules for your own amusement? That you broke his rules and put at risk not only your person but every single one of the others?

Your form began to tremble, you didn’t know if it was from the air that cooled your form or simply the fear of not knowing what your punishment would be.

Namor noticed the shakiness of your form, he frown, not really wanting to put you on this situation, he silently took away the basket of your hands, placing instead the flower you desperately wanted to hide from everyone else. Your fingers didn’t grasped it tightly as he did so his fingers closed around your hands. He smiled at you softly, trying to ease you back to comfort. “Ma' taak ka'ach in a asustaras, mix mix.” I didn’t want to scare you, far from it. One hand left yours and placed it on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.

“K'uk'ulkan.” You closed your eyes, trying so hard to not break down in front of him. “Teene'…” I…

He shushed you gently. “In wojel.” I know. He whispered, his eyes looking at the flower. “A wojel wáaj bix u k'aaba' le nikte'o'?” Do you know what this flower is called?

“Ka tin kaxtaj way.” I found it on the surface. You shook your head. “Tin tukultaje’ jats’uts.” I thought it was pretty.

Namor hummed, you almost closed your eyes at the sound. “U k'aaba' cempasúchil.” It’s called cempasúchil. He whispered. “Le nikte'o' le pixan.” The flower of the dead. You gasped in horror, trying to drop the flower but his hand didn’t let you. He quietly laughed at your action. “Mix taan u kíinsikech.” It will not kill you.

You stared at the flower -and him- weirdly, trying to understand how this tiny flower had that huge significance. He grabbed your chin and guide you to look at him once again. “I could show you, but the place I could take you do not speak our language, have you practiced your English?”

“Yes.” You bit your lip. “I am not good still.”

He shook his head smiling. “It does not matter.”

Namor guide you to the surface, carefully explaining you how you needed to blend yourselves from the surface-dwellers, you nodded along his words, but when the both of you finally made your way to the beach, he noticed how your skin turned blue, he frowned, not because of the color, but because he knew that if they saw it, you would be taken away from him and that made something stir inside of his body.

His eyes found a piece of clothe that perhaps belonged to someone else but he didn’t care. Namor grabbed it and helped you put it on, it didn’t do much but he was more at ease. He grabbed your hand and tugged you softly, making your way to the festivities, and as best as he could, Namor explained everything.

Like a child full in wonder, your eyes tried to take as much as you could, every single light, every single smell, everything was so captivating to you that you couldn’t care less if some surface-dwellers were throwing glances at the bluish-tone your skin was taking.

Then, some form of lights began exploding on the skies, making you gasp in surprise, your body sticking closer to your king, who gladly welcomed your touch without any complain. Your eyes never leaving the skies, how the colors were changing with each explosion, it made you giddy, it made you feel like you were a child once again.

Namor felt the soft tapping on his arm, his eyes quickly turning to it, a small child offered him a smile, a few teeth missing on the front, tiny hands trying to place a small object on his hands, he gratefully accepted it with a nod. The child left and Namor inspected it carefully before gently placing it on your hands.

You watched it with wonder. The object providing you with a gentle warm that made you smile, you tried to touch it but it burned you, making you quietly hiss but not throwing it away.

Namor was about to take it away from your hands as it hurt you, but when you turned to look at him something inside him made him stop. The object created a soft glow that caressed the bluish of your skin. You looked beautiful, like a painting he spent hours creating on the loneliness of his cavern, and when your eyes softly closed, he knew you were smiling under the layer of cloth he helped you put on to disguised yourself from the others. He couldn’t look away and even if he could, in that moment, he chose not to.

[notthefirstfallenangel]

Forbidden to die III

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ADULT CONTENT. 18+, blood, violence, death

Summary: Captain Price endures the horrors of a Russian prison as a prisoner of war, and finds some solace in his cell neighbour, who helps him stay strong with their late-night chats.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: I have tried to write multiple endings, but none feel quite right. Despite my best efforts, the conclusion I have written is not to my liking. However, I accept it as the best one I could come up with at this moment.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Death is silent, like a shadow, and takes different shapes and forms. Sometimes invisible, sometimes not. Sometimes tall and thin, sometimes short and squat, sometimes all of the above.

Death is a blur in the shadows, which could be any shape. It’s a shade of grey that appears and disappears. You can’t really see it, but you can feel it. Depending on where it is, you can’t even smell it.

Death is silent and takes different shapes and forms. It is a person, a thing; it is unseen. It is a feeling, a fear, a worry, a burden. It comes in a thousand different forms, and no one knows which, if any of them, will strike down that day.

And that day, it came in the shape of you.

Your hands were covered in blood, the body of a man twitching at your feet as he clutched his throat with the same hands that earlier had held you by your arms and shoved you against the wall.

The guard lay before you; he gasped like a fish pulled from the water. His hands scraped over the wound just under his chin, and the air pumped out of him with ragged gasps like a fish being pulled from the water. His blood spilt onto the floor in squeaking, thick spurts.

You looked at your hands, which were now shaking, and then back up to him- his face twisted in terror and pain. You watched as the man convulsed, his fingers desperately clinging to the hard ceramic beneath him. His body was contorted in a final agonising dance. Then, slowly, the spasms stopped, the body falling flat on the floor in a pool of blood, still and silent.

You paused to take a breath, rivulets of sweat dripping from your forehead. Your heart beat like a thunderstorm inside your chest as your mind raced. You didn’t want to be here; you didn’t want to have to do this. But it had to end this way.

When the creak of the cell door echoed through your chamber, you knew it was the moment of reckoning. The guard arrived with a scowl and dragged you from the shadows, ready to bellow his rage yet again. With your heart pounding in anticipation, you knew this was your chance.

Your sleeve hid the gruesome tool hastily created from an old spoon. Its handle was jagged, like a shark’s tooth, shaped and cut out unevenly. It was thin and slender like a pencil yet more pointed, capable of slicing through any material with just one thrust of its point - perfect for stabbing.

You had set the dominoes in motion, a simple act of anticipating the escape of a day to save Price’s life. But from that one action, everything began to unravel like a loose thread pulled from a sweater. The pieces fell into place with an eerie precision that no one could have foreseen. The air was still silent as you held the sharp, rusty knife tightly, its uneven edge biting into your skin.

The split second stretched into eternity; you knelt down, pulled his radio and gun off his belt, and left the body behind.

The thought of dying weighed heavily on your mind.

If you died, all you’d see would be darkness, the blackness of space; it would envelop you like thick ink flowing through water -the last sight you’d see before being pulled away to the other side.

If you died tonight, you’d close your eyes to relieve the pain and feel yourself float away on a sea of blackness. It would be peaceful, quiet, but not cold or terrifying. It would be an end. Your end.

Your lungs would fail, and you’d fall into a deep, comfortable sleep, never to wake up.

Death is terrifying because it is utterly peaceful.

There were bright, soft visions of Heaven, but you found them unconvincing.

You knew that your fate lay outside that door. You could feel the task’s weight ahead of you like a millstone around your neck. The darkness seemed to press in on you, suffocating and oppressive. But you couldn’t afford to be scared. Not now. You had come too far to turn back now.

The plan was to start a fire, large enough to draw the guards away from their posts and allow the other inmates to break free and possibly take over the prison. The tall flames would eat up the dry hay and brambles like a hungry monster, growing faster as it chewed its way through the field like a bull in a china shop. Once they reached the barbed wire fences, there would be nothing left but ashes.

You moved cautiously toward the door, avoiding the pools of blood as you went. The weight of the radio and gun made your hand unsteady, and your heart thundered in your chest. You took a deep breath and placed your hand on the cold metal handle of the door, pushing it open with a creak.

The hallway outside was dark and empty, but you navigated it with all the grace of a panther stalking its prey. Being a spy meant being invisible, and you had mastered the art of going unnoticed better than anyone else in your field. You moved soundlessly, every step calculated and precise, until you reached your target without a single soul catching even a glimpse of you.

The hour of their reckoning had come, and they would soon feel firsthand the inferno of their own wrongdoing.

--

The prison was oddly quiet, a kind of hush that foretold of a coming evil. Price felt it, too - a tension in the air, like something was about to happen and following him like a dark cloud. The hallway and cell block had an oppressive atmosphere - hot and suffocating. Then he smelled it: the unmistakable odour of smoke, bitter and sharp, that burned his nose and made his eyes water. He could almost taste the powdery ding of black and white smoke and ashes. This smell reminded him of war zones- The cries of the desperate and dying, the stench of death. 

The howls of protests, demands, and desperation were distant but just as urgent.

Price gasped for air as the smoke filled his lungs and flooded his eyes. He fought through that awful burning, choking sensation in his throat, which had become hoarse from all the coughing. His voice was rough from the lingering scent of burning plastic and flesh in his lungs. He coughed again, a harsh cough in response to the lingering stench of chemical waste in this redoubt.

“What the hell-?” He coughed and coughed again.

He crawled on all fours, one hand in front of him and the other gripping his shirt in a vain attempt to shield his lungs from the acrid smoke. His eyes scanned the darkness, desperately searching for an exit as he felt around with his fingers.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a sliver of light shone through. Price blinked in surprise as a figure stepped into the room- he could barely make out his frame.

It was one of the inmates he had grown to know well from his own cell block.

“Quickly, now!” he shouted, grasping him firmly. His thick hands were rough, and his grip iron-like as he pulled him up. The calloused palms almost tore into his wrists as Price found himself suddenly standing.

Price stumbled forward, coughing and wheezing. His eyes watered as he tried to adjust to the sudden brightness of the chaotic hallway. The smoke was thicker here, and the shouted protests and demands of the prisoners were louder. Price could see the desperation in their eyes as they scrambled to get out of the burning building. They pushed and shoved, trampling over each other in their haste to escape.

“What the bloody hell’s happenin’?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

“We’re breaking out,” the other prisoner said, a hint of excitement in his voice.” Looks like you don’t have to be the sacrificial lamb anymore, huh?”

Price blinked, still trying to process the situation. he still felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. He could hardly believe it- they were actually escaping. He was filled with a sudden rush of adrenaline as he realised that his days of captivity were finally over.

Price barrelled through the cell door, with a thick cloud of smoke billowing behind him. His eyes darted around the room as he quickly scanned for you. Panic swelled in his chest when he saw that your bed was empty, and worry flooded his expression.

And then it hit him. It was you—you were the mastermind behind all of this.

“What the hell?!” He stopped and stared at the prisoner. “Where the hell is she? “Price’s voice was hoarse from the smoke, and a nervous lump formed in his throat. He tried to hold himself together, but he couldn’t. “God damn it.”

He bellowed out your name, but there was nothing but smoke, prisoners and the sound of shouting. 

The man yanks him by his collar, dragging him through the maelstrom of chaos and wreckage. 

“No!” Price protested, “not without her.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Don’t care ’til I see her, alright? “He snapped back before running in the opposite direction.

--

The hallway was dark and barely lit with an occasional flickering lamp. The floor was dusty, the air thick with dust and smoke. You could feel it getting into your eyes, nose and mouth, which all stung with each breath you took.

The air was filled with choking smoke, but you could still make out a few details. It looked like a prison block; you made your way back to the main core of the prison, grimacing as your injured leg throbbed with pain. The torn skin was slick and sticky. When you tried to feel the severity of the wound, your fingers slipped into the red mass of meat and gore.

You released your grip on the weapon after taking out a few more guards as you headed for the exit. 

The soft clattering sound of it on the ground went unnoticed against the cacophony of gunfire and men screaming in pain. The job was done, and you were almost out, but your blood still boiled as you leaned against the wall for support.

There were sounds of chaos all around, echoing through your mind, slowly numbing your soul.

Slowly, you had taken the corner, but the sharp pain of someone grabbing you by the shoulder and spinning you around made you stumble. You tripped on your feet and tumbled to the ground as a guard loomed above you, pressing his heavy boot into your chest.

You froze as you felt the cold metal press against your skin, and a whimper escaped your lips. Like its owner’s voice, the gun’s muzzle was brutal and unforgiving.

The man’s voice rumbled out of him, deep and menacing like rolling thunder. His words were almost inaudible, but the intensity of his presence was oppressive. He pushed his gun into your back so hard you felt it burn through the fabric of your clothes. His fingers dug into her collarbone with a cruel strength as he snarled, “Tell me, where do you think you’re going, little miss?” The raw aggression behind his voice was a warning - one you could not ignore.

The man’s face contorted into a twisted mask of fury; his eyes burned with a crimson fire that seemed to originate from deep within his soul. A sense of primal fear gripped you as you took in the sight before you. His snarling lips were drawn back, exposing his crooked teeth and the jagged scar tissue that stretched like a grotesque mask over his features. The man’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cruel like a razor blade.

” I’ll have to make you an example now.”

Your chest was constricted with panic as you struggled to breathe.

You knew that this was it. You were trapped, and there was no way out. The man’s grip on you only tightened, sending waves of pain coursing through your body. You tried to speak, but your throat constricted, and no sound came out. 

There was a coldness in your heart, something telling you to prepare yourself. There would be no falling asleep and drifting away to endless sleep; this time, you would see what lay beyond the veil. It was time to die.

--

The sky was bright and crystal blue, a contrast to the rocky, grey landscape the hospital window overlooked. The air was cold that day, but the weather was nice. A calm wind blew from the east.

Hospital rooms were quiet, too quiet. The occasional beeping of machinery or whispers of doctors and nurses speaking were hushed, like the clatter of the floor tiles as they walked.

Your voice suddenly broke the hush, saying, “No smoking here.”

Price sat in a chair beside your bed, his face weathered but his body lean and mean. His hands clutch a plastic cup of tea. He smiled at you.

“Smoke’s good for a patient like you...” Another plume of thick, acrid smoke exhales from him. “Besides, you’re supposed to be restin’, love.”

“The nurse is going to kick you out like last time,” you warned him.

The back of his hand brushed against your cheek, and he leaned toward you slightly. “I’ll kick the nurse’s scrawny ass out… “

You chuckled. “It’s bad for your health.”

“I’m not the one layin’ in a hospital bed,” he said.

Price looked up and into your eyes, watching them as they dart around the room, taking the measure of everything. He e had been enamoured with your sparkling, luminous eyes. He needed to look into them—his expression warm and full of adoration. It was a look you’d never seen before.

“Because I saved your life.”

“And I saved yours, remember?” His fingertips gently glided down the side of your head, his touch sending soft shivers down your spine. His fingers delicately combed through your hair.

“I guess we’re even.”

You both shared a moment of silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. The sound of beeping machines and faint whispers seemed to disappear, and it was just the two of you in the room. 

“I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he finally said, breaking the silence. 

You smiled weakly, your hand reaching out to take his. “I’m just glad we made it out alive.” 

Price’s thumb stroked your knuckles as he gazed at you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. You knew he was a man of few words, but every word had a depth of meaning when he spoke.

“We did it together,” he whispers, his accent thick and gravelly. “And we’ll keep doin’ it together, no matter what comes our way.”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @fanficwriterlover @i-ameri-cant @littleone65 @cosmoscoffeee @cj-theyoungling @time-for-tmblr @shuttlelauncher81

[pipi-un-kaki-in-pipi-land]

don't

summary: you accidentally crash into Enid in a rush to your dorm, but it unveils into something more intriguing

Oh shit. Your legs were carrying you as fast as they could in an attempt to give a gift your roommate before they left for the holidays. If it weren't for your worrying obsession with books, you wouldn't have dozed off at the library at a secluded spot where the librarian couldn't even find you; you wouldn't have been in this frantic position at all.

Your goal shined so vibrantly in your mind until the presence of your crush and her best friend went unnoticed. In the blink of an eye, you crashed into Enid, causing her pile of books to fall all over her foot as Wednesday whipped around to see who did it.

Had you known this would've happened, you would never have done it in the first place. Enid wasn't really a human, and those werewolf instincts had you ending up with three claw grazes across your arm. Seething pain added on to those feelings of guilt and regret as you came tumbling on the stone-cold floor a few inches away from the ravenette.

After the most agonizing minute of your life, you heaved your back off the floor as you clutched the stained fabric of your school uniform. Sweat drooped down your eyelids as you saw Enid standing up with the assistance of Wednesday; the pile of books neatly stacked on the floor beside her.

The ravenette made her way to you, kneeling down as her expression softened the very moment she looked into your eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed when she averted her gaze to your bleeding arm, taking off her beloved snood as she gently wrapped it around the clothed wound.

"Come to our dorm, y/n, I'lI get you cleaned up," Wednesday extended her hand as you weakly grabbed it with your non-disabled arm. You could hear sniffles from Enid as she picked up the stack of books and headed in your direction.

-

The journey to their dorm was a short one, filled with apologies from both you and Enid as you explained to them that it was a total accident, and how you ended up dozing off in a small hidden cubby of the library while being so immersed in a novel.

And here you were, seated comfortably on Wednesday's bed as she gently cleaned up your wound, your stained blazer and vest lying on somewhere on the wooden floor.

You tried to put your rose-tinted cheeks out of view as Wednesday bandaged your cuts, but Enid noticed it and grinned with her eyebrows quirked up. "I'm gonna go grab something from Yoko, see you both in class!" Enid giggled as she headed out the door, shooting you a mischievous look without the ravenette noticing.

The thrilling tension between you and Wednesday, only increased dramatically as the door shut behind the both of you. This was the closest you've been with her, and you were honestly feeling the urge to spill out your fragile feelings to her at this moment of time.

"Sorry for taking up your time, Addams," you sheepishly muttered as you watched her put the first aid tools back in the case. "It's not a big deal," She replied, placing the case back in the cabinet where it belonged.

"But do that one more time, and I will rip off your arm," She paced back at you; your head nearly levelled with hers even though you were sitting down.

"You look rather appealing with your rolled up sleeves," you slightly smirked, standing up to loom over her.

"You're getting too comfortable."

It was hard to hide the tinted blush that plastered across her freckles as you bit your tongue to hide the grin that arched across your face. The rain gently pattered outside the balcony as you took a step closer to Wednesday.

"You're pathetic to even like me, y/n. And don't think I return the feelings," She looked up at you, her eyelashes fluttering as the blush on her face became even more noticeable.

"Your softened expression just now tells me otherwise. If I was someone else, you would've butchered me in an instant," you chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

The ravenette broke eye contact with you as she gazed over to the balcony, but you were still focused on her flawless beauty.

"I would be wrong if I said that wasn't true," Wednesday muttered under her breath, her gaze switching back to yours as her pupils only reflected the colourless beauty of the raindrops that slid down the window.

Abandoning all your thoughts surrounding you, the ravenette pulled you in by your necktie by surprise as your lips met with hers.

Dozing off in the library was probably the best thing that happened to you, after all.

[cambion-companion]

One shot of Aemond x genius reader? I remember him saying “I have no need for a clever wife” in the book but what if he slowly fell for a sharp tongue nerd lol.

Also can the reader be an inventor as well? Like she’s so intelligent that she’d be maester if she wasn’t a woman.

Oh hi friend! So...this is going to be a 2 part fic. I wanted to set it up so that the reader and Aemond get a chance to really fall for each other in the next installation.

Let me know if you want to be tagged for Part 2.

Aemond x reader

“Hand me the crow’s foot wrench.”  You held you hand out expectantly, still bent with your face close to the work bench.

“The…what?”  Aemond was at a loss, scanning the many tools littered on the table next to you.

You sighed, straightening and turning to where he stood looking frustrated.  You knew he was unaccustomed to not having the answer for everything, it made the corners of your mouth twitch in an unbidden smirk.  You plucked the correct tool from the table and wiggled it before his frowning face. “This is the crow’s foot, Aemond.”

“It looks like a small piece of metal to me.” He huffed, rolling his one violet eye.  The other was covered by a leather eyepatch and despite your curious questions, the young man refused to let you see under it.

You returned his dubious gaze with a cheeky smile and returned to your work. Aemond, despite himself, moved closer to hover over your shoulder.  “What are you doing here anyway, Y/N.  You shut yourself up here in the maester’s attic for hours each day.”

“You miss me?”  You gave him a sly look over your shoulder. “I’m touched.”

“In the head, perhaps.”  There was an undertone of annoyance in his voice now as he gestured to your work. “This is a mess of cogs and coils.”

“It can be much more than that if you let me focus…damn.”  Your hand had slipped on the tiny wrench, sending several springs you had so carefully lined up flying.  

Aemond tsked and you rounded on him, needing to pull your head back a bit as he was standing so near. “Aemond please.” You hissed. “I need to concentrate!”

He threw up his hands and backed away, giving you some space.  “I don’t know why you don’t pick up sewing or playing an instrument like the other ladies at court.”  He walked around the little workplace you had arranged for yourself. Bending down to examine one of the small mechanical egg that opened and closed when a lever was pressed.  

“Because I’m not like the other ladies at court.” You muttered, concentrating once more upon your newest invention.  

“That much is self evident, Y/N.”  He seemed to like saying your name and, if you were being honest with yourself, you liked hearing it from his mouth.

He approached your shoulder again, touching it lightly.  “I know you don’t want to be distracted from…whatever fascinating contraption you’re creating, but my mother wishes to see us.”

Your hand gave an involuntary twitch at his words, causing the metal compartment you had just carefully sealed to pop open, spraying forth a cloud of charcoal ash.  Your face took the brunt of it, but Aemond, having positioned himself close behind your shoulder again, spluttered and coughed along with you. You turned to face him, waving a hand in an attempt to clear the air somewhat.  He looked a mess, his angular face now covered in a thin coating of black dust, his silver-white hair, so sleek and polished, was now the shade of a moorland swamp.

The two of you stood there a moment, taking in the other’s appearance, before bursting into a peal of laughter.  Aemond’s left hand clutched the nearby table for support as you doubled over, holding your stomach.  

After many moments of trying to pull yourself together you finally straightened, wiping a tear from your face and immediately regretting it when your hand came away covered in black ink.  Aemond shook his head at you, his curved mouth still grinning. “I’m guessing that wasn’t your intention.”

“Your deductive powers know no bounds, my prince.”  You started carefully making your way out of the room and in the direction of your chambers.  

Aemond snorted derisively, coughed, then followed you. “I will meet you outside your rooms and escort you to my mother, the queen.  Don’t take long, knowing you I could be waiting hours.”

You whirled around, indignation flaring in your eyes.  On a wild impulse, you rubbed the back of your inky hand across Aemond’s cheek, leaving a dark streak upon his face.  “You insufferable minx!” He tried to grab for your hand but you gathered your skirts and fled the scene, leaving the astounded prince behind.

It proved a difficult task, but with some soap and a coarse cloth, you managed to rid yourself of most of the charcoal dust.  You changed out of your soiled dress into one of scarlet red, with golden details.

Aemond was nowhere to be seen in the hallway as you exited your room, and you leaned against the wall to wait.  It was several minutes before you heard approaching footsteps and saw him round the corner, stopping when he saw you waiting there.  You moved to greet him; he had cleaned up well though you spotted a small dot of black next to his ear. “Hold still a moment.”  You said, reaching forward and rubbing away the mark with your thumb.

Aemond started at the contact but held still for you, his eye taking in your features.  He extended an arm, which you took, and escorted you to where his mother waited.

“That took a while, Aemond.”  Alicent rose from where she had been sitting near the fireplace. “Lady Y/N, a pleasure to see you as always.  Please, sit.”  She gestured for the two of you to sit on the sofa across from her.

You sat next to Aemond, your knee and shoulder brushing against his, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “What is this about, mother?” Aemond queried, so he didn’t know any more than you.

“Forgive me for being blunt about this.” Alicent began, running stressed hands along her skirts. “Time is of the essence. Aemond, you are nine and ten years of age. It is past time for you to be betrothed to a suitable lady, and I wish for that lady to be Y/N.”  She raised her voice over Aemond’s sudden protestations. “Lady Y/N comes from a strong noble house whose support we desperately need right now.  You have said on multiple occasions how beautiful you find her, yes you Aemond. She is learned, clever and more than a suitable match.”

“I have no need for a clever wife, mother.”  Aemond snapped.

Your face warmed, having nothing to do with the fire. You glanced sidelong at him, his jaw was taught, his fingers tapping impatiently on his thighs.  

“It is already done. I have been in correspondence with Y/N’s family, and they have agreed.” Alicent continued as Aemond abruptly stood, turning to the fire. “It is your duty as the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen.  We need allies, Aemond. Or we’ve no hope of winning the war to come.”

You watched his back as Aemond stared into the flames.  There was nothing you could say against this if your family had already signed you over to the Targaryens.  The idea of wedding Aemond didn’t seem altogether unpleasant, however you had long since accepted your marriage would not be one of love, being a lady from one of the great houses.

Alicent turned her worried face to you. “Again, I am sorry this was so abrupt, Lady Y/N.  You know I am fond of you, and I look forward to welcoming you fully into our family.”

You tried to smile at her, it felt weak on your own face.  Your eyes flicked back to Aemond’s still form, the sheet of pale hair running down his back, tense shoulders finally seemed to relax.  He faced his mother. “I will do my duty to this family as I always have.”  His eye flickered to you. “Forgive me, lady Y/N.” He said with a formality you were unused to in the several years you had known him. “I’m honored to accept you as my betrothed.”

With these words, Aemond crossed with long strides to the chamber door, opened it, and disappeared into the halls beyond.  Alicent blew out a long sigh. “I expected that to go better.”

“May I leave, your grace?”  You needed to escape, to go somewhere the fresh air could waken your numb senses.

“Yes, yes.”  Alicent waved you off, staring into the flames with an expression of such utter sadness it made you hesitate.  But only a moment before you also fled the room.

[yancherrysoda]

The Faux Divine of Freedom

Took me long enough 🧍‍♂️

I had a lot of fun writing this! I will for sure cringe at this in like a month or two, but whatever. It was originally going to be 2.500 words; I don’t know how it turned out to be more than twice as long. The 2-month hiatus did me good lol

There’s a scene where Venti admires your lips; I really tried my best to describe them in a way that doesn’t go too much into detail since the reader is you, and your skin color might not be the same as mine, so if it sounds a little bit weird, it’s because of that.

This is part 2 of my yandere Venti oneshot series

Warnings: none

Word count: 6.273

Venti's feet made no sound on the stairs, his slender fingers gripping onto the banister with every step. His gaze was fixed ahead as he descended, unseeing but knowing where each stair ended and began. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he slowly approached your bedroom door and raised one hand to knock lightly against it three times. When you did not answer, he slowly turned the doorknob and peeked inside, only to be greeted with an empty room. This was not a strange occurrence; when you first arrived here, you would spend the majority of your time locked in your bedroom, unwilling to talk or spend any time with him at all. However, lately, you opted to leave the house, preferring instead to spend time outside—and that is where he found you.

Stepping out of the house, his eyes immediately focused on your figure, curled up on a rock at the edge of the shore. Your legs were pressed tightly to your chest as your arms wrapped around them in a comforting hug. He cautiously approached you, taking in your presence before settling down not too far from you.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soothing, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

You turned your head to look at him; your eyes narrowed and lips pressed tightly together as your body shook ever so slightly.

He tried scurrying closer to you, but you moved away sharply.

“Don’t touch me.”

Ignoring your warning, he tried once again to close the gap between the two of you, which made you grab him by the collar of his shirt as you reached into the pocket of your shorts, your hand wrapping around the cool metal handle of a violin peg reamer. With a swift motion, you withdrew it and pressed its tip against his neck. While it was not sharp, he was sure that with enough strength, you could break his skin if you were to put enough force behind it.

“I said don’t touch me,” you hissed, “Or I’ll drive this through your throat.”

“When did you get—” You tightened your grip around his collar, cutting off his words as you pressed the tool below his jawline, right where his head connected to the neck. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

You retreated the reamer back into your pocket and released him. His hands came up to rub at the tender spot where you had held him.

He didn’t try to move closer again.

The both of you sat there in silence, watching the waves come in and crash against some of the rocks before it was eventually broken by your rumbling stomach. You wrapped your arms around it, hoping to keep it still.

Venti’s eyes stayed fixed ahead. “I know what you’re trying to achieve by going on a hunger strike. Do you think that’s going to set you free?” He sighed. “Not only is it childish and very ineffective as a form of protest, but you could also potentially harm yourself, and I wouldn’t want that for you.” He eyed the peg reamer that you clutched tightly beside you. “You can also try and stab me as many times as you want; it’s not going to change anything.”

An awkward silence settled in between you both yet again. Venti felt the tension in the air, wishing he could break it but not knowing what to say or do. He thought about all the things he had wanted to discuss with you, and yet now he knew better than to breach those topics, as you were clearly not in the mood to talk to him.

“How long have I been here?” You asked after a while.

He shrugged. “A month, give or take.”

“My family, have they tried looking for me?”

Venti jolted, his face going pale as if he had stepped straight into a freezer. He lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers. “I haven’t talked to them.”

You scoffed. “Of course you haven’t. What would you have told them anyway? That I ran away? They wouldn’t have believed you.” You paused for a moment, looking out into the sea. “And when I die, you can just disappear for a couple more centuries. By the time you decide to come back, nobody we knew will be there to tell you anything.” You looked back at him, your expression unreadable. “Sounds like the perfect plan, doesn’t it?” You lifted your legs from the ground, pressing them against your chest once again as you rested your chin on your knees. “I wish I never met you.”

His breath hitched. “Please don’t say that.” He leaned towards you, his hands pressing against the bumpy surface of the rock. “Haven’t you felt something for me?”

Your lip curled into a sneer. “Whether I felt something for you or not doesn’t matter anymore; thanks to this brilliant idea of yours, all of that is gone now.”

He knew this would not be easy, of course he did. You would not expect someone who had been taken away from their home and forced to be exiled until the end of their days to be happy about it, yet he could not help but feel how his heart broke at your words. Seeing you switch from showering him with love and affection straight to hostility tore him apart in ways he had not expected. Despite his best efforts these past few weeks, he could not seem to bridge the huge gap that had formed between the two of you.

But that was fine; he could rebuild the previous life he had with you. Sure, it would take time, but he was willing to wait; he knew how to do that very well.

He stood up, offering you a hand. “Care to join me inside?”

-

The two of you stepped through the door, his cape billowing out behind him like a sail in the wind. He removed it slowly, then hung it on the coat rack you had just at the entranceway. He carefully placed his hat next to it, then straightened it with a gentle touch of his fingers before turning to stand in front of you.

“I told you that you may get into my room any time you want, but not to take things out of it that could potentially be used to commit murder.” He extended his hand in your direction, his palm facing up. “The peg reamer, hand it to me.”

You took a couple of steps back, hiding the tool behind your back. “Huh?”

“I can’t risk you lashing out at me like during that kitchen knife incident the other day. I really don’t want to deal with that again.” He placed his free hand on his hip. “You might also hurt yourself with it.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You’ve been behaving like one lately, so hand it to me.” He moved his fingers slightly, indicating that you should hand over the reamer.

You slowly pulled it out from behind your back and placed it on his hand.

“Good, we’re making progress.”

You then stepped into the kitchen, a cozy space with white walls adorned with wooden wainscotting on the lower half—just like in every other part of the house. You took a seat at the old wooden table with your head propped on your hand, clearly not in the best of moods, as you carefully watched Venti walk towards the sink to wash his hands.

He hummed as he moved around the room—here plucking an onion from its little basket, there taking out apples from their box. Opening the fridge, he took out a piece of meat and some butter before searching through drawers filled with spoons and forks until he found a knife. Then, he took one of the hanging pans and placed it on the stove before adding the butter and some spices like pepper, garlic, and rosemary. While he waited for the butter to melt, he grabbed the knife and started cutting the apples.

“We’ve known each other for over two years now and you still haven’t told me what your favorite dish is,” he said, trying to make small talk as he chopped the apples. He peeked at you over his shoulder, then continued, “Maybe if you did, I could have cooked it for you.”

“I don’t have a favorite dish.”

Once the butter melted, he added the meat and waited for it to cook before finally adding in the sliced apples.

The aroma quickly filled the room, making your stomach rumble once again.

He stirred the pan. “Is that so? Then I guess I’ll have to make something that you would consider your favorite.”

You shifted your position, crossing one leg over the other as you leaned back against the chair. “But I did like the Buoyant Breeze at that restaurant we went to before,” you added.

Venti smiled at your response. “You have good taste.” He took a plate, scooped some of the food onto it, then walked over to you.

“Aren’t you going to eat as well?”

“I don’t need to, not as much as a human. I do get hungry, but hunger won’t kill me; it will only make my stomach hurt and cause some fatigue, which are symptoms I don’t like to deal with, and I doubt you do either so,” he set the dish down before taking a seat across from you, “I would advise you to stop this nonsense and eat when you have to,” he said, his voice coming out louder than he had intended.

You looked down at the plate and immediately recognized the dish as Northern Apple Stew.

Venti propped his chin on the back of his hands as his elbows rested on the surface of the table. He tilted his head to the side. “By the way, the dish you mentioned; Buoyant Breeze, did you know it’s Barbatos’?”

You stopped mid-bite. “That’s your—”

“Yep. I thought it would have been nice to cook something of my own and share it with other people. It took me many years to find the perfect ingredients.”

“It’s just carrots, potatoes, and onions,” you remarked before taking the first bite.

“Ah, but the secret lies in the combination of all three. Each has its own unique taste that complements the others.” He leaned in closer to you, his emerald eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he spoke, “It’s a dish that represents my identity as Barbatos.”

You took a bite of the apple, tapping the fork thoughtfully against the edge of your plate. “I guess that’s why it’s so simple.”

He pretended to be deeply offended, but the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against his chair. “How dare you say that? Do you not appreciate the taste of high-class cuisine when it’s presented before you?”

His fake indignation made you chuckle. “I do, I absolutely do. It’s incredibly delicious,” you said, “When it’s prepared by experienced chefs instead of you.”

“Oh ho! Alright, I get it,” he chuckled, running his hand through his dark hair. “How about you let me try my luck and cook it for you next time? You actually never tried eating it from the very Anemo Archon himself.”

"Sure,” you replied. It was the kind of 'sure' that meant 'yeah, right'. Your voice had a tinge of sarcasm to it, and he knew from your expression that you were not convinced.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll cook it for you tomorrow night,” he declared confidently.

The evening continued with Venti taking on a storyteller’s demeanor, regaling you with stories of his past exploits and sharing his deep-rooted philosophy on life.

At some point, he delved into the history of wine—how could he not—and how it came to be in Mondstadt. He described a certain mischievous wind spirit that took the form of a fox and fermented some apples under a negligent guard's care. When the guard awoke, he bit into one of those apples and, finding that he enjoyed the flavor, squeezed the sack that contained the apples to create wine.

His tales flowed like the finest wines, and as you finished your meal, he cleared the table and placed the dishes in the sink.

You got to your feet and headed to your room, with him walking right beside you like a persistent thorn in your side. You were about to open the door when you paused, hand still on the doorknob. “Why are you following me?”

“I don’t have anything to do.”

“Then why don’t you go find something?” As you stepped through the doorway, Venti placed his foot against the door, preventing it from being closed.

“I want to talk to you, like how we always did.”

“I don’t, so get out of my room.” You attempted to push him back and out of the room, but he caught both of your hands in his, holding them still. He gently shoved you inside, then kicked the door shut.

“It’s been a month, [Name], this can’t keep going on.”

You pulled yourself free from his grasp, turning to face him with an obviously fake smile. “You’re right, this can’t keep going on, so let me out.”

A deep, exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.” You crossed your arms, the fake smile growing wider as he stepped closer.

“[Name], come on now; if there’s anything you’d want me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Didn’t I already tell you what I wanted?”

“That has nothing to do with setting you free.”

He carefully watched your movements as you wandered around your room; it remained the same as when you arrived here, only having a couple of extra things here and there like books, scented candles, and other trinkets. There were also three frames hanging on one of the walls, perfectly aligned one after another. Originally, Venti had placed photos of the two of you from your previous adventures in them, but due to the rage you felt towards him for what he had done, you took them out of the frames and tore them into little pieces.

“Is there any way you could help me communicate with my family? To let them know that I’m alive and well?”

Venti exhaled heavily, reaching out to rub the back of his neck. “That’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

“The least you could do is grant me this request,” you said. “Or do I have to pray to you?”

He chuckled. “That would be nice.”

“Fuck off.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your temper sure has gotten worse over your stay here.” He stared out the window, turning the thought over in his mind. If he agreed to let you contact your parents, he would have to talk to them first, which would be a pretty awkward experience. Of course, he could not allow you to have direct contact with them, so it would have to be done through notes. “I guess I could help you, but only if you agree to do something.” After all, you would not pass on such an opportunity, right? He might as well get something from you in return.

“Agree to do something? Do you think you’re in the right to make any demands of me?”

Venti smiled in amusement, his lips curling up into a grin. “I just want you to let me hug you; it’s a small price to pay for what you’re asking me for.”

You turned your head away from him. “This is something I would call a pain in the ass, and not what I asked for.” You looked back at him. “Fine.”

He giggled, taking a step towards you. “There’s one thing I forgot to mention, though. You see, I’m a little bit tired, so if you could allow me to hold you as you…” he leaned in slowly, “Sit on my lap, that would make me very happy.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Your request is rather complicated, as I’ll have to think of something to tell your family about your whereabouts.” He placed a hand over his heart as he said in a pitiful tone of voice, “Not to mention the humiliation I’ll have to go through if I did that.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

“Oh, there sure are, but I doubt you’ll say yes.”

You uttered a string of curses under your breath. “Whatever.” You raised an eyebrow at him, “What are you tired of anyway? Doing nothing all day just like how you do nothing as the patron God of Mondstadt?”

It was a fact that he had not been very active in terms of leadership in his nation over the past centuries, but he had never given up on it. If the day ever came when his people would need him—no matter what shape or form the situation may take—he will always be there to step in.

“What’s with that sassy attitude?”

“What’s with that sassy attitude?” You mimicked his words in a mocking tone. “Oh, I’m very sorry! I didn’t know I had to exhibit a good attitude towards my kidnapper!” You grabbed him by the shoulders and, with an effortless motion, pushed him onto a nearby chair, planting yourself on his lap. You placed a hand over his chest, pushing him further into it. “Tell me, oh great God of Freedom—if I dare call you so myself—doth this please you?”

Your actions caught him off guard, and he almost missed his grip on the chair. He looked slightly dazed by your boldness but quickly recovered.

“Huh? Oh, your switch in behavior, or you sitting on my lap?” He let out a hearty chuckle, his shoulders bouncing slightly. He rested his hands on your hips to help balance you. “Either way, yes, very much so.”

Your jaw was visibly clenched, and your throat bobbed as you gulped. It looked as if you were about to jump at his throat right then and there. Your hand got ahold of the back of the chair as you leaned in, “We’re not lovers; we’re not friends either, not anymore, so don’t talk to me as if our relationship was still the same.”

Venti's gaze met yours with seriousness, his brows drawn together. “I get it.”

Carefully, you slipped further away from him until you were nearly perched on his lap.

“I can’t hug you when you’re that far away.”

“Sucks.”

Venti dropped his legs so suddenly and sharply that you almost slipped off him, which made you quickly react and reach out to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

He gave you a light kiss on your ear before whispering, “That’s more like it.”

You quickly pulled yourself away from him. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

He stuck out his tongue, his eyes narrowing cheekily.

You dug your fingers into his shoulders.

“Ow ow ow ow! Alright, I’m very sorry!” He moved one of his hands behind his back, his fingers subtly crossed. “I won’t do anything like that again, I promise.”

Apologies exchanged, Venti’s hands shook ever so slightly as he wrapped them around your frame. The second he nested his head on your chest, it felt like his body had found its home. Nothing around him mattered; his worries and cares all seemed to dissolve away the moment he touched you. He closed his eyes and sighed, listening to your heartbeat. It thumped strong and steady, with a rhythm that could beat on forever—or so he wished.

“I missed holding you like this,” he uttered.

This was the only time you let him even come an inch closer to you; normally you would avoid or scowl at him. He understood that his actions disgusted you, yet he won’t lie and say that the past month has not been excruciating. The change in your behavior reminded him of a human he considered his friend long ago—a red-headed warrior that came to live in Old Mondstadt under Decarabian's dictatorial rule. When Decarabian was defeated and Venti ascended to godhood under the name of Barbatos, for reasons he has yet to comprehend, the warrior then turned his back on Venti.

He nuzzled closer to you. “I know you don’t understand why I did this to you, and I have a feeling that you never will, but let me at least explain myself.” He drew a breath, releasing it slowly. “The life of an immortal is a dreadfully lonely one, for it is marked by an eternity of watching the ones you hold dear grow old and leave this world, drifting away like echoes of a song in the breeze while you remain unchanged,” he began, his voice carrying an unbearable weight to it, one that endured centuries of loneliness and sorrow. “Not being able to experience the love you desire so much for such a long time can be really hard, and it can make you do unspeakable things, desperate to find someone who can stay with you for more than just a fraction of time.”

Your hands balled into fists. “So you decided to restrict my freedom because you wanted to be loved? You’ve been alive for so long, yet you never learned how to properly get into a relationship?”

He pulled away to have a proper look at your face. “When you say it like that, you make me sound like a loser.”

“Probably because you are.”

“How rude.”

You huffed. “Don’t you have any friends?”

His face softened. “Yes, I do have friends. But if you’re asking me about people who have had a significant impact on my life like you did, then no—they have long since perished.” He tugged at the corner of his lips in an attempt to hide the sadness that had started spreading across his features. “It’s quite tragic if you think about it; being forced to live for eternity and not being able to form meaningful connections with people because they eventually pass away. You’d cry day and night, wishing you could have done something to make them stay by your side.” He gently reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “You’d think I would have gotten used to it by now, but it keeps hitting me like a wave every single time. Oh, they died, too.” He laughed wistfully. “Why? Why am I alone again?”

You didn’t say anything.

“You’re a very kind person, one that I am very fortunate to have met. I’ve never experienced the warmth and affection that you’ve shown me. I never knew what it felt like to be loved in such a way before.” He smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to be with you, [Name], but I didn’t know what else to do. All I knew was that the only way for me to prevent you from potentially falling in love with someone else was to bind you to me.”

“But that’s not how love works; it cannot be forced; it has to come from both people’s hearts willingly.” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you asked, “What did you do all this time that you were alive? Did you not learn anything?”

He gently brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek. “I learned that love is the most precious thing a person can have. As an Archon; immortality and power mean nothing; at least to me, they don’t.” His eyes softened, and he continued, “Of course, I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done—I can’t even forgive myself—but I hope that you at least understand my struggles.”

You glanced out the window; the sun was setting and the night sky was beginning to blanket the island in darkness. “Have you done something like this to anyone before?”

Venti’s eyes widened slightly at your question, and for a moment he said nothing. He looked around your room, seeming to take in his surroundings anew before focusing back on you. “No,” he replied simply. “I never clicked with anyone before.” He pulled you closer to him. “I did want to have a partner at some point—someone who I would love and who would love me in return—but I never so thought of doing this to anyone.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t really have any experience in… courting someone. So I did plenty of research on how to show the person I love that I had feelings for them by doing things like holding hands, hugging, giving presents, and such.”

To say that Venti had no experience with being in a relationship was an understatement. He had seen how others treated their love interests and was able to pick up on some patterns—the Windblume Festival was a particularly great time to learn about human love—but he also wanted to make sure he did not screw things up, so he took the time to read up on what he should do and how he should act. Sure, he was a master at writing love poems, but he was no expert when it came to managing his own emotions.

When he first began to develop feelings for you, his first thought was to make you a gift. It was the first thing he tried to do for his departed friend—to gift him the feather of a bird. So would gifting you a bunch of flowers show you how much Venti valued your presence in his life? Would cooking for you or taking you on dates to Windrise make you understand that he viewed you as more than just a friend? Would showing you that he was capable of protecting you make you less likely to push him away if his limits were tested and he had to take drastic measures? Guess not.

You raised an eyebrow in response. “Did that research also include kidnapping people?”

Venti looked away, quickly covering his mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the choked laughter that threatened to escape.

“Not funny.”

“It is kinda funny.” He looked back at you, checking your expression before quickly saying, “I mean, the way you said it, not the situation itself.” He shifted his body slightly. “I assumed you got my intentions, and that’s why you treated me with such kindness.”

“I treat everyone with kindness.”

“I’m sure I was the most, and that's why I thought that you wouldn’t be so opposed to what I did and would at least try and understand the position I was in.” He sighed. “Anyway. I actually took some time to plan this all out, but I ended up jumping into action way too soon, which is also the reason why I didn’t come up with an excuse to tell your family as to what could have happened to you. I admit I acted prematurely. I wish I didn’t let my intrusive thoughts win,” he paused and then added, “Tell me, did I do something against your will during your stay here?”

“No,” you admitted. “Because if you did, you would have been six feet underground by now.”

“Oh wow! That has got to be the best comeback I heard from you so far. Who did you learn this from?”

“He’s sitting right in front of me.”

Venti giggled. “Did you get anything else from me?”

“Not your insanity that’s for sure.”

“Do you think I’m too far gone? My ideals are still freedom, even after what I’ve done, that’s why I give you the freedom to go anywhere you want—within this realm, that is. If I were completely out of it, I would have kept you chained, but I don’t.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?”

“I would be.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re in fact far gone; you just don’t realize that.”

As much as he would have loved to put you in your place for your cheeky remark earlier, he had to control himself; you were still in the early stages of getting used to your new life.

His grip on your thighs tightened, a physical reminder of the power he held over you. “Hmph. Come to think of it, maybe I should have kept you chained when I brought you to the tower; a slip on my part,” he mused. “I almost got a heart attack when I came back and discovered you weren’t there.”

“Fuck you.”

Venti tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips gliding against your cheek. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit early for that?” He giggled. “You know, judging our relationship before this whole situation, I thought you’d stay to listen to what else I had to say instead of doing your silly little escape. I really thought you’d have some compassion.”

A loud slap landed on his cheek, its sharp sound reverberating through the air. His head whipped to the side, and he felt the heat radiating off of his cheek like an open flame.

“Compassion?” you said through gritted teeth. “You made me think I was safe with you, and then you drugged and kidnapped me!” You lifted your hand to smack him again, but he was quick to get ahold of it. “You selfish piece of shit!” Your breath caught in your throat as tears began to roll down your cheeks. “When you took me to that tower, I didn’t fully register your motives, even after you explained them to me. All I thought was; what did I do wrong to deserve this? To be locked away?”

His heart tugged at the sight of you in so much distress; he tried cupping your face, but you knocked his hands away.

“Is this what I get for being nice to you?” You quickly swiped away the tears with the back of your hands. “You don’t deserve to be called the God of Freedom.”

“Do you really think I was going to let go now that I finally found the person I was looking for for so long?” He didn’t wait for you to answer; instead, he once again brought his hand up and gently wiped away your tears. “[Name], I wanted to be loved, too.” He wrapped his arms around you, holding you in a tight embrace. “I love you, so much,” he whispered softly.

You hiccuped a few times as the tears kept rolling down your cheeks. “I’m not saying you don’t love me, but trapping me here isn’t a good way of showing that.”

“You’ve been very distant with me, so it has been difficult to do that.” He leaned back, taking your hands in his. “Could you give me a chance? After all, I told you I’d make you happy, didn’t I?”

You hesitated, wavering between one state of thinking and another. “How are you going to do that?”

The answer was obvious, but he felt like teasing you.

“When two people love each other…”

You quickly covered his mouth with your hand, accidentally snorting a laugh. “I wish you’d shut up.”

That was not the real answer—at least not at this point in time.

His eyes looked intently into yours as though he were trying to hold onto the sound of that laugh forever, not sure when he would ever hear it again. He grabbed the hand that covered his mouth, brushing his lips against your fingers before kissing them one after the other. “I wish you’d make me.”

“Stop talking like that.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, I was just trying to make you laugh.”

“That was supposed to make me laugh?”

“You just did.”

“I said shut up or I’ll end you.”

He laughed again. “You seem to forget I’m not human, and as such, there’s no way for you to get rid of me. But hey, there are other ways to stop me from talking,” he said as he pointed at his lips with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You stared at him with a blank expression on your face. “I’m done with the conversation.” You attempted to get off him, but he placed his hands on your waist, holding you still.

“Where are you going? We still have got to discuss a few things. First,” he said, holding up a finger, “No more hunger strikes. I don’t want you lying to me and saying that you ate when you didn’t. It’s painfully obvious anyway.” He grabbed your chin, directing you to look at him. His expression was stern, but it also had a hint of concern. “Did you hear me?”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it. I thought that you’d get tired of dealing with me soon enough and would end up setting me free. You can still do that, you know, I won’t tell anybody that their God has gone insane and went against his own beliefs by kidnapping a person.”

“How tempting.”

You huffed. “Why does the God of Freedom need to set rules anyway? What happened to go forth and establish a city of freedom without rule?”

Venti clasped his hands together, his eyes lighting up. “You’re such a devotee!” He giggled. “I totally understand what you mean, though, but sometimes rules are necessary; you humans just don’t seem to know how to behave properly sometimes.” His mind drifted back to the aristocracy that had taken over Mondstadt shortly after Decarabian's fall, ruling the region with an iron fist for 1.600 years. They went from being noble protectors to tyrannical rulers whose influence was spread far and wide.

“Ironic.”

“Alright, second rule; stop trying to kill me. Do you know how creepy it is to wake up in the middle of the night to see you standing beside my bed, holding a knife above my throat?”

“Mr. Big Anemo God Barbatos fears he might get his throat slit?”

“Hey! That won’t kill me alright, but I still feel pain, and you know that.”

“Oh, I sure know.”

“So?”

You hummed in thought, a yawn escaping as your exhaustion began to catch up with you.

“[Name]…”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Another yawn interrupted your reply.

“You look tired.” He smiled. “Why not rest your head on my shoulder?” He cocked his head to the side. “Or does your pride get in the way?”

“Keep pushing your limits; I don’t mind slapping you a second time.”

He wagged his finger from side to side. “One of these days I’ll have to properly punish you.”

There it was again; the clenching of your jaw and irritated swallow.

Defeated, you laid your head on his shoulder.

As soon as your body touched him again, Venti's breath hitched, and his grip on your waist tightened slightly. He felt his face heat up as his braids radiated a dim teal hue, resembling a flickering lightbulb. He looked into your eyes, his expression softening. “Giving up?” He sighed. “Oh, what am I gonna do with you…” He blew out a breath, pushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “You sure have given me quite some trouble.”

Gradually, he began rambling about various random topics, like a song he performed on that specific day of autumn where he got plenty of tips and even a free bottle of wine. He recounted a funny incident where he had tried to dance on one of the tables of the tavern and then broke it, which prompted Diluc to kick him out of the building and leave him standing out in the rain like a wet rat.

As he spoke, he did not notice that your breathing had slowed and your eyes were gently closed. With a smile on his face, Venti finally fell silent. He looked down to find you asleep on his shoulder. “Did my speech bore you?” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “You should have spent some time with a friend of mine; that old blockhead keeps on talking and talking about the same stuff every time!” He felt a sudden sting on his cheek. He reached up to touch it, but quickly flinched away. “I’m gonna have to use some ice on this…”

Venti slowly and gently stood up from the chair, cradling you in his arms, then walked towards the bed, careful not to make too much noise so as not to wake you up. He laid your head on the pillow and then tucked a blanket around your body, making sure it was snugly fit.

His gaze fell on your lips; they were slightly parted as the softest sighs left your mouth. They looked full and inviting, with just the slightest hint of a curve inwards at the corners. The hint of color made them all the more attractive—a hue that looked as if it had been painted on with care. He brushed his thumb against your bottom lip, slightly tracing it as his mind replayed his previous words; ‘I wish you’d make me.’

He chuckled to himself. “Maybe another time.” He leaned closer, his hand tenderly enveloping yours as he placed a light kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

He watched you with bated breath, wondering if you would stir, if your features would relax or tense. He waited for a moment, for any sign, even the subtlest, that his heartfelt confession had reached you, but you were still just as peacefully dreaming as when he laid you on that bed.

[choccyhearts]

Clogged Drain (Eddie Munson x Reader) (18+)

Note: I've had this idea buzzing around my head for a while ^_^ not sure when part 2 will be posted tho

CW: 18+!! Oral sex (m & f), recorded sex, talk of pornos, looots of dirty talk/innuendos, fem!/afab!reader

You and Eddie have always had a healthy sex life. Always willing to try anything, you guys have discovered things about each other you didn't know were there!

A few years into marriage, you anticipated the inevitable dry spell to happen, but it never did. You both came up with spicy ideas to keep things interesting.

So, one day you came up with an interesting fantasy that Eddie immediately got on board with.

A sex tape.

You joked about how silly, but also really hot, it would be to film a sex tape. Eddie thought it was a great idea, but you wanted to take it a little further. You told him you wanted to shoot it like a real trashy porno movie -- a stupid plot, bad acting, euphemisms and innuendos aplenty, and a variety of camera angles.

Eddie was a little skeptical, worried you wanted to film an actual film in front of people, but you reassured him the two of you could pull it off.

You already owned a video camera and some tapes, so your fantasy wasn't too hard to create. All you had left to do was get some costumes and a basic outline for a script and you were set.

And that's how you ended up standing in the kitchen wearing a skimpy dress and an apron with heels pretending to wash dishes. The video camera was pointed at you as it sat on the counter behind you.

Eddie walks in wearing an unbuttoned shirt with a white tank top underneath, a pair of old jeans, his pair of work boots and clutched in his hand is his tool box.

"'Scuse me ma'am," Eddie drawls.

You turn and face him surprised.

"Oh! Hello! You must be the plumber!" He nods.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry I let myself in, door was open", his eyes scan your body.

"Oh it's no problem at all!" You stop "washing the dishes" and take off your rubber gloves.

"So, what seems to be the problem?"

"Well", you bend over and open the cabinet under the sink. "This has been having trouble draining, I think it's clogged." You turn to him and innocently bat your eyes.

Eddie stares at your ass as it peaks out from under your dress. Already, he's sporting a semi just from looking at his beautiful wife.

He clears his throat," Clogged drain? That's an easy fix. Shouldn't take me too long..."

You move out of the way and let him kneel down to inspect under the sink.

"That's so good to hear! I guess it must've been a while since I had my...drain snaked. I would do it myself but...I think other people do it best." You twirl your hair as you gaze down at Eddie. He looks up at you, a smirk on his face.

"Of course, ma'am. Sometimes it takes a new set of hands to reach the right spot." Eddie winks and you walk over to the camera to turn it off.

Immediately, you both burst into giggles. Eddie waves for you to come over to him but you shake your head.

"Mm-mm, save it for the video."

"Ahh, baby, please. I need to touch my wife", Eddie pouts.

"And you will", you begin to set up the camera in a different angle. "Later."

Once the camera is ready, Eddie lies under the sink on his back. You press record before bringing over a glass of lemonade.

"Here you go, sir. Thought you might be thirsty from working so hard."

Eddie crawls out from under the sink and takes the lemonade.

"Ah, thank you ma'am." He takes a swig and smiles. "So sweet. Ya know, I love tasting...sweet things."

You giggle in character which makes Eddie almost break. You take the glass away from him and kneel down beside him.

"So, have you made any progress?"

"Almost. This clog seems to be a big one. Must've been a real long time since you had it fixed, huh?"

"Yes sir", you blush.

"Well, in the future, you should call me. Don't want it getting to the point of frustration, would we?"

"No sir", you shake your head. You feel your pussy throb as you begin to get turned on. It was hard not to, honestly. In this shot, Eddie now has his button-up off and a little grease on his face.

You feel ready to pounce on him but decide to wait it out just a liiitle longer.

Eddie goes back under the sink and pretends to work. You begin to play with the collar of your dress and eye Eddie's body.

"So, do you work out for the job or is that something you do for fun?"

Eddie chuckles, hearing the way your voice wavers a bit. He can tell you're slowly getting needier and needier.

"Actually, I don't work out at all. The job keeps me in shape enough."

You sigh dreamily and gently place your hand on his stomach.

"Wow, your wife must be happy."

"Nah, don't got a wife."

"Oh...a girlfriend?"

"Nope, no girl in my life."

You hum and rub his stomach softly.

"What about you, ma'am? Pretty little thing like you's got to have a man who'd kill me if he saw me alone with you."

You giggle and slowly lift his shirt up, admiring his torso. Eddie wasn't ripped or toned, but he still looked reaaal good. He had a nice stomach with enough pudge to show he definitely ate his fair share of your cooking. He also had a gorgeous happy trail that always made you feel flushed when you saw it.

"Nope, I don't have a man. I'm all alone here...that's why I needed to call you to fix my drain."

"Aw, that's quite a shame. Bet'cha if you had a man, you'd know how to treat him right, huh?"

You notice how his bulge grows larger. You delicately run your fingers along the outline, biting your finger on your other hand.

"Yes sir. I would keep him very happy." You press down on his bulge with more pressure and he shifts his hips, wanting to just ravage you immediately.

"Hmm...seems this drain issue is bigger than I thought. It might take longer than expected. That okay?"

You nod, "Yes sir."

You go back to rubbing his dick through his jeans as he tries his best focus on not moaning just yet.

"Is there anything I can do for you while you work?"

"Mmm", he hums. "I think you know what you could do."

You smile and begin to undo his belt. Eddie feel excitement pool into his stomach. He knows what's about to happen, I mean of course he does, but for whatever reason this time is even more exciting.

You undo his pants and slide them off, leaving his underwear on. You palm him through the thin fabric and feel a wet spot soaking through.

"Wanna show me how you would keep a man happy?"

"Yes, sir."

You pull down his underwear and gasp at his size. While he knows you're doing it for the camera, Eddie can't help how much his ego swells. You slowly begin to pump his cock,face shocked by the size.

"That's a good girl", Eddie mutters.

You speed up your pace, rubbing your thumb over the tip. You can't help but marvel at Eddie. This is definitely not your first time, but just getting to sit back and really get a look at him makes you truly drink in his beauty.

"Think you could suck it?"

"Mmm, yes, sir."

You let a glob of spit fall on to the head of his cock, using your hand to lubricate his size. You slowly lean your head down before sitting back up.

"Wait!"

"What's wrong?", Eddie struggles to quickly get out from under the sink.

"Need to change the angle!" You get up and stop recording. You take the camera off of the tripod and hold it out for Eddie. "Here!"

"You want me to...?"

"Yeah, it'll be interesting, like 'POV'!""

"Alright, as long as I'm the only one who sees this 'POV'." You giggle and nudge Eddie before sitting back on the floor.

Eddie leans his back against the cabinet and begins recording.

You wrap your hand around his cock again and slowly lower your head down. You kiss the tip before opening your mouth and taking him in. Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you.

He's seen you do this countless amount of times but seeing it through the viewfinder makes it feel sexier.

He gently sets a hand in your hair.

"Ooh, such a good girl. Mmm, you suck it so nice."

You hum in acknowledgement and continue hollowing your cheeks around him. Eddie brushes your hair away from your face and strokes your cheek. You continue stroking the length you can't fit in your mouth, your other arm propped up on his legs for balance.

"Oh, christ. Your mouth feels so good, baby." Eddie is usually a dirty talker during sex, so this isn't much different than your usual times together. However, since it's now on camera, recorded forever, you think his dirty talk is hotter. Despite the fact that this tape will never see the light of day, if someone were to see it, they'd know how good you take care of Eddie. How quickly you can turn him into putty in your hands.

After a few more minutes, Eddie begins to get antsy.

"You're such a good girl, lemme show that pussy of yours some lovin'".

He turns off the camera and sets it down. You sit up and try to fix your hair but Eddie pulls you by the throat into a kiss.

"Mmm, shit, you're so hot. I just need to fuck you now", he moans into the kiss.

"Mhm...not yet." You pull away and Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers before picking up the camera.

He presses record just as you begin to untie your apron. You pull it off and throw it far away from you.

"Such a sexy body, I need to see what's under that dress."

You blush and slowly pull the dress over your head, tossing it over to the apron. Now you're sat in a new set of lingerie, bought specifically for this occasion. Eddie nearly drools at the sight.

"Oh ffffuck, that's so sexy." You slowly pull down your panties and toss them at him. With the camera, he looks down at the panties in front of him. "Oh, sugar, they're so damp."

He lifts them up to his nose and sniffs them offscreen.

"Eddie!", you whisper shout to him, breaking character.

"What, I can't have some fun?", he says before tucking the panties in his back pocket. He points the camera back at you and you spread your legs wide open for him.

"I know you said you like sweet things, so why don't you come here and give me a taste?"

Eddie dives into your pussy, setting the camera on your stomach. You quickly hold it and angle it towards him as he eats you like a starved man.

"Oh! God!" He leans away and spits on your clit before going back in, tongue twirling around. He gently nudges his index finger against your entrance, checking if it's safe to enter. "Please, sir."

He chuckles and slips his finger inside. The wet squelches and obscene squeaks are a bit embarrassing, but honestly you couldn't even pretend to care. If there's anything Eddie's amazing at, it's eating pussy.

Your hands shake as you try to hold the camera steady. Eddie glances up at it occasionally, smirking into the lens. He'll stare straight into the camera and over enthusiastically lick your pussy, as if making sure the imaginary audience understands that this is his territory and only he gets to be down there.

After Eddie has slipped a second finger into you you're ready to hit your climax. He doesn't slow down, instead keeping a steady pace, ready for your sweet juices.

"Oooh, fuck! I'm gonna cum! Fuck, I'm gonna cum, sir!"

"Yeah, that's it, sugar. Cum for me. Cum on my fingers."

You do just that, tensly holding on to the camera while Eddie helps guide you along. Once you come down he pulls out his fingers and pops them into his mouth.

"So fucking sweet, baby. I need to get a drink from the source." He leans down and sticks his tongue inside your pussy. You whine and pull at his hair, overstimulated but loving his touch.

He slurps and kisses your pussy, eyes closed happily.

"So delicious. If I was your man, I'd have to eat you up every morning for breakfast." He sits up and licks his lips.

You smile up at him and mouth "I love you". He winks at you, letting you know he means it back.

"Well", he pulls off his tank top. "Looks like we've made some progress in that clogged drain. However, I think I need to get deeper in there to help."

"How deep, sir?", you say innocently. Eddie has to hold back a grin so he doesn't break character.

"All the way, darling."

(Part 2)

Stopping this here for a breather ^_^

[munson-blurbs]

Happy 2k followers! If it’s alright could I make a request for my birthday using the 2k prompts with Eddie/hellfire room/birthday cake?

Very fluffy fic incoming! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

--

“Okay, okay, yeah. No, I totally understand,” you say into the receiver, willing your voice not to crack. “I hope everything gets cleaned up quickly.” You slam the phone back on the hook, punctuating your aggravation with a string of curses. 

“That sounds like it went well,” your neighbor, Dustin, quips, munching on a granola bar. Any time he comes to your house, he manages to find your snack stash. 

You bury your head in your hands. “That was Meg’s Café,” you explain. “Apparently a pipe burst last night and flooded the whole place.”

“Shit,” Dustin mutters, taking another bite. There’s nothing more indestructible than a teenager’s appetite. “That’s where you were having Eddie’s birthday party!”

“Oh, really?” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That hadn’t occurred to me; thanks!” You sigh as Dustin flips you the bird. “Where are we gonna find space to throw him a whole party in…” you check your watch, “...three hours?!” You turn to the younger boy, who’s already moved on from your crisis in search of more food. “Dustin, focus!”

“Sorry, jeez.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.” 

You roll your eyes and reach into your fridge, pulling out a crown of broccoli and tossing it to him. “Go nuts.”

He takes a big bite just to spite you. “Okay,” he says, “let’s consider our options.” He puts the vegetable down on the counter. “We could have it here.”

You shake your head; the apartment you share with your mom is barely big enough for the two of you. “Too small.”

Dustin nods. “I’m guessing Eddie’s trailer is also out, then.” He sighs in exasperation. “My mom would never let me throw a party, so that rules out my place, too.” He taps his chin before raising his pointer finger excitedly, like a mad scientist with an ingenious idea. “How about the Hellfire room? We can decorate it, order some pizzas, cut a cake—”

“The cake!” you groan. “Meg’s was gonna have one for us!” 

Without saying another word, Dustin darts across the hall to his own apartment. Communication is not his strong suit, you think wryly. He comes back moments later, out of breath and clutching two rolls of cookie dough and a bag of potato chips. 

“Let’s bake ourselves a cake,” he pants, plopping the tubes on the stove. 

“With sour cream and onion chips?”

“Oh, that’s for me. Though the broccoli was much appreciated.”

~

Dustin quickly recruits the rest of Hellfire Club—and Steve Harrington, their reluctant chauffeur—to decorate, while you two start on the cake. 

“I need a rolling pin,” you tell him as you open the plastic casing. He dutifully hands you the tool. “I hope Eddie is okay with a chocolate chip cookie cake,” you murmur. 

Dustin chortles. “Please,” he says, “that man would eat dirt if you were the one serving it to him.” You feel your cheeks heat up, and you try to focus on rolling out the dough. You and Eddie have been friends forever, but you’ve only been dating for a few months. That’s why it’s especially important for everything to be perfect. 

“Don’t believe me?” Dustin continues. “Ask Lucas and Mike. One time you left him a cute note in his locker, and he kept looking at it during Hellfire. Couldn’t even stay in his DM character. And this is the guy who once puked and came back to finish a campaign like nothing happened.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, placing the dough in the oven. “I’m gonna call everyone and let them know about the change of venue. Just take the cake out when the timer goes off.” He gives you a little salute as you make your way through the guest list. 

“Cake’s done!” Dustin calls out as you wrap up your final call. The smell of freshly-baked cookies wafts through the air. “Just gotta let it cool.” He looks over at you before blurting out, “So, uh, do you love Eddie?”

“I, um,” you choke on your words. “I don’t really know what love feels like. Like, romantic love.”

“Well,” he starts, plopping onto a kitchen chair, “when you get news—good or bad—who’s the first person you wanna tell? When you think about your future, who’s there? Who makes you smile more than anyone else? Whose sadness makes you sad?”

It’s the same answer for all of his questions. “Eddie.”

“So, there ya go!” Dustin exclaims, slapping the table. “Now all you gotta do is tell him.” He says it like it’s no big deal; like you wouldn’t be baring your heart to him. What if it was too soon? What if he thought you were rushing things?

~

Your nerves are already at an all-time high, but when you hear Wayne and Eddie’s voices traveling down the Hawkins High hallway, your heart feels like it’ll pound out of your chest. 

“So you’re applying to be a custodian?” Eddie’s saying, disbelief tinging his tone.

Wayne coughs. “Uh, yup. Figured you could show me where your club meets before my interview.” His voice is so stilted and awkward; for everything he’s good at, Wayne Munson is not an actor. 

The doorknob turns, and your stomach feels like it’s filled with lead-winged butterflies. “This is the Hellfire–” Eddie stops in his tracks as he takes in the sight before him. All of the club members plus Max Mayfield yell out, “Surprise!”, and you watch as a huge grin spreads across your boyfriend’s face.

“Happy birthday!” You bound over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Baby,” he murmurs once he wills himself to pull his lips away from yours, “did you do all this?”

“Kind of?” You laugh at his bemused expression. “This was gonna be at Meg’s, but they had a flood, so everyone helped me move the party here.” You glance at the table behind you, where people are already digging into the pizza pies. “I was hoping for more of a sit-down dinner, but we had to make do.”

“Tell him about the cake!” Dustin shouts, making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Cake?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah…Meg’s was also supposed to provide a birthday cake, so Dustin and I whipped up one using cookie dough.” You’d managed to find a tube of blue gel icing in your cabinet, and you’d written Happy Birthday Eddie with a little heart on top of your makeshift cake. “I know it’s not exactly what you wanted, but it’s all we had on hand…”

Eddie shuts you up with another kiss. “Not exactly what I wanted? Babe, I’m surrounded by my favorite people at a party thrown for me by the girl I love. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

You’re so touched by his words that you nearly miss his confession. “Wait, you…you love me?”

He nods, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I love you so damn much, it scares me,” he admits, letting out a little laugh.

“I love you, too, Eddie.” You’re about to bring him in for a passionate kiss–audience be damned–when you’re interrupted by a certain curly-haired meddling freshman.

“Told you!”

--

[half-dead-ham]

I've waited this long

Day two of Shipweek is Soulmates! And so I offer the masses a humble Roy Harper/Danny Fenton ship, so rare they don't even have a ship name yet! Upon the offer of one, I may be tempted to make more of this ship, they are a match made in hell imo. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

here's: [Ao3]

Despite how much Danny’s parents invest in the scientific method, they were never one’s to believe in things like ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’. They stood by their ideals that ghosts were real but soulmates were things people imagined so much a market grew for it, despite forty per-cent of the population having one.

 So of course the first thing Danny’s parents did when Danny showed off the white ring he got on his left middle finger was tell him to take it off.

 He told them he couldn’t, of course. Danny didn’t know what soulmates even were, he was only four. When he asked them why, they thought he was playing a prank. They tried to take it off his finger by force, but of course it wouldn't budge. They ran tests and did experiments and theorized and hypothesized and hummed and hawed until they were pulling their hair out.

 And still the ring would not leave little Danny Fenton’s finger.

 They finally settled on Danny having some sort of allergic reaction with the metal and surrounding samples of ectoplasm bonding the ring to his finger temporarily and told him to test it every once in a while to see if it came off.

 And then they forgot about it.

 Jazz found Danny later, curled up and crying on his bed after the whole ordeal. She comforted him, told him what the ring actually was, and said that if he ever did find his soulmate that he shouldn’t bring it up to his parents. He silently agreed, then drifted to sleep in her arms.

~~~~~

    Stupid idiot. Stupid Danny. Why did you follow Rory into a city you didn’t have the map for?

 Danny kicked a crumpled can along the sidewalk, watching it skitter along the pavement as he tried to remember which street he had turned from. He honestly didn’t even want to be here, in a city so far from Amity and his parents, it wasn’t his idea to sign him up for the end-of-school field trip; it was Jazz’s. Danny would rather be back in Amity Park, playing DOOMED with Tucker while they figure out what classes they were most likely to have together in high school.

 Instead he was lost in a city he’d never been to, thanks to his free time buddy, Rory, leading him around after stealing his phone and stranding him without the map they were given. Jackass.

 Another kick to the can sent Danny’s current stress relief straight into a storm drain. Danny froze, staring at the spot it had disappeared, before letting out a sound that was half growl, half groan. Stomping back on his original path, Danny sneered at his sneakers. He was going to murder Rory over this, there were enough tools in their stupid basement for Danny to beat that stupid smirk off that ass and- “Oof!”

 Danny staggered back a step, clutching his nose as he blinked up at what- who- he had bumped into.

 Concerned jade eyes met his lake blue as a boy slightly taller than him rushed to grab his shoulders and stabilize him. He froze, deer-in-the-headlights style as the stranger swept his eyes over the rest of Danny to make sure nothing was damaged.

 “You okay?” The other asked, jolting Danny out of his daze.

 “Uh, yeah, of course!” Danny squeaked out, feeling a small embarrassed flush warm his face.

 The stranger looked down slightly, to Danny’s confusion. He quickly realized he still has his hand over his face like an idiot.

 “Ope- yeah totally okay!” Danny quickly tore his hand away from his face in further embarrassment, really hoping he was right in not feeling any signs to the start of a nosebleed. Just to make sure, he checked his palm, giving a small sigh of relief at not seeing any red, just some light pink on his finger… Wait-

 He spun his hand around, making sure to check if his ring really had turned pink.

 “Holy shit,” the guy in front of him whispered, and looking up Danny could see him inspecting his own pink ring. Maybe he should thank Rory instead of murdering him, the guy led him to his soulmate after all.

 The guy- his soulmate oh god he needed to tell Jazz- looked up to him, stunned and a little awestruck. Danny, for lack of anything else to do, stuck his hand out with a goofy grin as he introduced himself.

 “Hey, my name’s Danny; Danny Fenton. Looks like you’re my soulmate.”

 ∆•∆•∆•∆

 So as it turned out, the guy -Roy was his name- was a Star city native. After they made their introductions Danny asked if Roy knew the way back to his hotel. Roy gave him the most confused look he’d seen on him (yet) and told him that he’d almost made it to a completely different part of the city, and “why the fuck are you in the south side to begin with?” And, well Danny sheepishly explained his situation as they started walking the right way back.

 While Roy didn’t say much to his explanation, the brilliant vermillion Danny’s ring turned probably meant that he and his soulmate had the same thoughts about Rory at the moment.

 It was nearing supper time by the time Danny and Roy made it back to the hotel, and Roy was unfortunately witness to the rant Danny’s teacher went on about “Staying with his buddy” and “not following strangers in a large city”. As soon as Roy held their rings up she redacted her last statement with a click of her jaw. Roy then proceeded to explain to Ms. Montal about how Danny’s “buddy” left him stranded in a different part of the city without his phone, and how if Roy hadn’t found him that she might’ve had to resort to calling the police and explain how unsafe it was to have kids running around the city unsupervised.

 Yeah, Danny was definitely glad Roy was with him at that moment. The nice shade of red that tinted Ms. Montal’s face -either in embarrassment over being so thoroughly called out by someone the same age as her students, or seething rage- had Danny moving a hand over his mouth to muffle his suppressed laughter. He didn’t know if it was any help, if the glare that could melt steel he got from his teacher was any indication.

 After they got to watch the lovely conversation Rory had with their teacher for leaving Danny behind, he asked if Roy wanted to come up to his room to talk some more after they had supper. Roy refused, saying he had somewhere to get to and the dinner was already pushing his time into the ‘late’ category. He asked if there was any good time for them to meet up the next day, but again their schedules didn’t line up. Roy asked about the day after, but they couldn't meet then, as tomorrow was their last day in the city.

 Danny stared at his shoes, at a loss for what to do. He really wanted to spend more time with his soulmate now that they’ve met, especially when Roy had so many stories about his mentor/foster father and his screw ups.

 “Well, you have a phone right?” Roy asked. When he nodded Roy’s face split into a grin. “Then you can just give me your number!”

 They ended up trading both phone numbers and emails, just in case. Apparently Roy had just as much of a chance to break or lose his phone as Danny did.

 With one last wave, Roy walked back the way they had come, the light of the dying sun setting his red hair ablaze. With how far apart they lived, Danny wondered if they would ever get to see each other again face-to-face.

 He hoped they would.

~~~~~

  Star City

 August 28th 2006,

15:07 PDT

 While getting a ride back from Oliver's house Roy felt something. He didn’t know what that something was exactly, but it felt like someone just hit him with a live wire and dunked him in a bath of hydrogen peroxide.

 It hurt.

 It hurt like someone haddunked him in acid, slammed him into an electric fence then gave him a million paper cuts and bathed him in lemon juice. It hurt so much he screamed and blacked out.

 Apparently it hurt so much for Oliver to pull the car over, because the next time he could see clearly he was leaning up against the side of the car on the pavement. Olliver was in front of him, worry clear on his face. He blinked as his mentor fretted over him, thoughts not really deeper than ‘god that hurt like a bitch’. 

 A light wind brushed his cheek and the cold stuck in tracks down to his chin. Absently, he brought his hand to his face, feeling the damp trails that led to his chin. Was he crying? He groaned, twitching with aftershocks and trying to think about anything other than the feeling of full body pins and needles he had.

 “Roy,” his mentor called, voice shaken. Why was the Green Arrow so shaken over what just happened?

 Roy looked to his mentor, only to find that Oliver was looking at the hand he had raised to his cheek. Dread settling in his stomach, Roy shakily lifted his hand up.

 The band around his middle finger was charcoal black.

 It felt like someone had just squeezed all the air out of his lungs. It couldn’t- no. Danny was fine.  They had just talked yesterday, he couldn’t be dead! There was no way Danny could have died, it was impossible.

 Roy was shaking now, for a completely different reason than the pain he just felt. He jerkily grabbed the ring between two fingers, desperately trying to- to- to do something! Either to rub the dirt (it was just dirt it had to be Danny couldn’t be dead) or keep the piece of jewelry from crumbling off his finger. It still felt solid, despite its colour being the exact color soul rings turn when a person’s soulmate dies. 

 Desperately he looked to Oliver. He was the adult here, he should know what to do, right? 

 But the stare Roy got back from his mentor was one full of grief and sadness, not the look he got when he was able to help, just loss. Roy’s lungs weren’t drawing in breath. His hand went from his ring to his phone, ripping it out of his pants pocket and dialling the one number he needed to pick up right now. Please Danny please pick up.

 The Dial tone rang once, twice, thrice. The whole time Roy repeated please pick up please pick up please pick up in his head, eyes never leaving the black band on his finger.

 “Roy?” Danny’s voice rasped through the receiver and Roy’s lungs finally caught breath.

 “Holy fuck Danny, are you okay? What happened‽” Roy nearly screamed into the phone, to Oliver's clear shock as he looked between the still black band and the cellphone in Roy’s hand.

 “Nothing,” Danny groaned, clearly still in pain. “I just got a small shock from one of my parents' inventions.”

 “Bullshit,” Roy shot back. “If you call what you got a ‘small shock’ then where the fuck did the police TAZER shoot me from?”

 Another groan from the other end of the line, along with the sounds of hushed voices that he couldn’t make out. Rustling fabric and soft footsteps was all that he listened to for what he thought was too long until Danny spoke up again.

 “Look, I don’t really know what to tell you right now, Roy… I just feel like I got hit by a train and everything’s still kinda…” Danny trails off for a moment, making Roy worry that he passed out or something, but a sigh fills the call with static and then Danny’s back. “I just really need a bit to not feel like shit now, Roy. You think I can call you back tomorrow? We can talk more then.”

 Was- wh- is Danny really just brushing all that pain off? Like it was nothing?? Like ‘oh, of course Danny, all you need is a little sleep and you’ll be good to go tomorrow!’ Fuck no, thats not how this works!

 Another grunt of pain makes its way through the line, and Roy sighs. ‘Danny is alive,’ he reminds himself, ‘and he’ll still be alive then he wakes up tomorrow’. Even while thinking it the words sound like a lie. The band around his finger is still black. Logically Danny shouldn’t be talking with him at all, he shouldn’t have been able to pick up the call. A small voice in the back of his brain whispers to him, ‘Someone got to him, someone who wanted to use him to get to Green Arrow. That isn’t Danny on the phone, it's a fake’. It's a part he’s afraid to prove right.

 “Sure, Danny. Just- just tell me one thing right now, okay?” He’s practically begging his soulmate -who he thinks is his soulmate- as his voice grows dry. A grunt was all he got in reply.

 “What color is my ring right now?”

~~~~~

 Star City general hospital

 November 12th 2007,

15:07 PDT

 Danny is dead, for real this time.

 Roy doesn’t know when it happened, he’d been taken by Luthor and his goons for the last three months and the whole experience was a bit of a blur, but sometime during that Danny's ring finally crumbled off his finger.

 He sat in the hospital bed, refusing to acknowledge the tears coming from his eyes as he stared at his bare finger. ‘I should’ve been there for him, I should have made sure he was okay.’ His thoughts spiraled as he wished, begged, for the ring to magically reappear on his finger. He prayed to every higher power he could think of to bring Danny back. Just one more day with his stupid texts, his long rants about the stars, his anything. He’d give the world to hear his soulmate's voice again.

 A knock on the hospital room door had him scrambling to wipe his face of tears and clear his voice as quietly as he could.

 “Come in,” he tried not to croak. He could tell it was Ollie as soon as he opened the door, but still he didn’t turn his head.

 “Roy…” His mentor didn’t know what to say either, he almost wanted to scoff. Of course the old man didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know the first thing about having a soulmate. In the end it was something he had to deal with himself.

 They stayed there, silence choking them like a snake coiling around its prey. Roy really didn’t want his old man to see how bad he was taking it, and his old man couldn’t console him for the gaping emptiness he was feeling. So they just did nothing, frozen like a picture in time.

 Finally, a sigh escaped the man behind Roy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner,” he murmured out. He sounded so broken. And still Roy didn’t turn to face him, he just struggled and failed to keep a sob from escaping him.

 That day Roy told himself to keep the memories he had of Danny close to him, and to never speak about him to anyone again.

~~~~~

Star City

January  19th 2011,

21:25 PDT

 ‘Everything… Was a lie. Everything I knew about myself isn’t real. I was just a pawn, a chess piece for someone else's game.’

 Vandal Savage, that asshole.

Roy (was he even really Roy if he was just a replacement?) was in… not his room. It was Roy’s room in Ollie’s place. It was dark, he didn’t bother to turn the light on when he came in and was just watching the lights of the city from out his window.

 What… What should he do now? He can’t just go on living somebody else's life now that he knows it isn’t his own. That would be wrong, and fucked up even for him.

 But Guardian, he had said that the light didn’t have the real Roy. If the light didn’t actually have him, then where was he? He refused to believe the real Roy was actually dead, those fuckers wouldn’t kill him off after cloning him. It was too easy, to just dispose of a chess piece that still has use? No, they wouldn’t do that…

 Right?

 He stood up and walked to the window, tracing the lights of cars criss-crossing along the roads like lines of ants.

 No. No, he refused to believe the real Roy was dead. He couldn’t be, he would eat his bow before he believed the real Roy wasn’t still out there.

 And Roy was, he would find him.

~~~~~

Washington D. C.

March 8th 2011,

21:07 EDT

Today's search with Jim was a bust, a complete waste of time. Even with the new tech provided by the league, the Wayne Ecogram unit told them the exact same thing as what we already found the last dozen times we went down there. Nothing. Not a scrap or clue or anything.

 He layed in bed on his stomach as he groused over the day. He could still feel that Roy was alive somewhere, like an itch just under his skin. It was telling him to keep searching, look, find him but people were starting to lose faith.

 He was just so tired. He hadn’t moved in hours since he got back, just thinking over what little they knew of what happened. He turned his head so he could see out of the window. The lights still shone from the city outside, people going on with their nights- with their lives- while he was stuck watching as time marched forward mockingly. His neck protested the movement, muscles sore from overwork and the strain of being still for hours making itself known as he finally moved to haul himself into a sitting position.

 On a brighter note, Jim had his lab work come back. They were in the same boat now, both being cloned from the same guy. Though somehow he still felt like they weren’t on the same page.

 Jim already had his own identity, his own self built personality. He wasn’t meant to be a copy of someone, a replacement. No, Jim wasn’t aware of the feeling of getting the rug ripped out from under your feet because you find out (in the worst way possible) that the life you’d been living, the fucking name you used, wasn’t your own. He was blissfully unaware of how that sucker punch to the gut felt, and so it left him alone even with someone like him to understand.

 And he was just. So. Tired.

 But he couldn’t rest.

~~~~~

Star City

November 9th 2011,

17:22 PST

 Ten months.

 It has been ten months since this search had started for the real Roy, and not even the Bats have found anything. The League has resorted to tailing Luthor on rotation for any clues, but they’ve started asking why they were still trying.

 ‘Roy’ had pulled Robin away to Star City with him, so they could go through the original Roy's things. He honestly hadn’t bothered to touch most of the older things in Roy’s room, he was too focused on the mission at the time to care for whatever little civilian interaction he had kept for convenience. It had taken some convincing, but Robin at least saw how hard he was working.

 “Dude, when was the last time you checked your inbox?” The Boy Wonder asked as he scrolled through old emails and spam on a laptop he had found buried under a clothes pile.

 “A while,” he drawled sarcastically as he searched an old box of trick arrowheads. Honestly why did he even have these in here?

 Robin continued to scroll as he quickly lost interest with the box, shoving it off his lap in frustration and moved to pick through the bottom of Roy’s closet. Quiet settled for a while, with only the occasional sounds of ‘Roy’s grunting and the clicking of the laptops trackpad keys.

 “Hey Roy…” He turned to look at the Boy Wonder as he read something from the laptop, eyebrows scrunched together behind his pointless sunglasses. “Since when did you have a soulmate?”

 The question struck him like an arrow to the heart, making him straighten where he sat. He had almost forgotten by now that he- Roy- had had a soulmate before he went missing. A wave of sadness washed over him as he realised Roy would never be able to see Danny again.

 “I don’t,” he replied softly, unsure of how to feel over those memories. “Danny died sometime while I was kidnapped by Luthor, I didn’t know about it until I was in the hospital.”

 “Who told you that?” Robin asked cautiously, eyes going back and forth from the screen to his face.

 “I…” He… couldn’t remember. He could’ve sworn it was Ollie, but he couldn’t remember having the conversation- with anyone. Just the immense feeling of loss afterwards. But it was something so important to him- to Roy- why couldn’t he remember? “Why?” He asked instead, “what did you find on there?”

 Robin just shuffled up the bed some, making space for him to sit down beside him. At first he didn’t understand what he was looking at, just a short message from Danny; nothing too personal, just saying something about him being worried over him and asking to get in touch when he could. It read like one of their old conversations they would have before Luthor got him, so why was Robin showing him this?

 “Look at the date it was sent,” Robin instructed, pointing to the little bar showing when the email was sent. His eyes grew to saucer size when he realized why it was of interest.

 “September eighth, 2009?” He mumbled out dazedly. The email was sent over two years after  he died? That didn’t make any sense, why would someone use Danny’s old email just to send him something like this?

 “Who told you your soulmate was dead, Roy?” Robin asked again, and he realized that he didn’t have an answer. No one had told him that Danny was dead, he just remembered it.

 “N-no one… I just remember that he died while…” The realization hit harder than Superman, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving the Boy Wonder to finish his thought for him.

 “You just remember that he had died while you were with CADMUS. You never thought to check your sources because you thought you just lost him, but maybe you should look into that now.”

 He could only nod in agreement as he reread the email over and over again.

~~~~~

Amity Park, Il

December 12th 2011,

11:27 CST

‘Roy’ knocked on the door of the townhouse that could hold the answers he needed to find the real Roy. He looked up, tilting his head at the chrome UFO stationed precariously on the roof of the building. Something told him that the Drs. Fenton did not have a permit for that thing, but from what he could remember of his -Roy’s- conversations with Danny, there wasn’t a government that could really stop the Fentons from doing what they wanted. Still, someone had to have tried, right?

 Robin was probably looking into it from where they parked up the road, along with whatever permits they needed to keep that thing that had just pulled out of the driveway from being impounded and torn for scrap.

 His head snapped back to the door as it opened, revealing- oh god.

 Danny was definitely taller than he remembered, paler too. His original’s soulmate now stood a head taller than he did, which when he was over six foot was saying something, with lean arms running up into a baggy t-shirt, no doubt hiding more lean muscle underneath. Maybe he did track or swim in high school? He was still Danny though, the same guy Roy met all those years ago when he was still trying to make Ollie take him on as an apprentice after his parents died. The same kid he helped get back to his school group and the kid he almost punched someone over.

 God, he missed Danny.

 Eyes a much brighter blue than he remembered widened so much it looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets, he almost wanted to laugh before they narrowed, zeroing in on where he knew he had his hands. Danny looked from his hand to his face -which he kept carefully neutral- before sighing, leaning himself against the frame of the door with a silent curse.

 “Please tell me Vlad didn’t make you,” he asked, looking even more tired than when he opened the door.

 “Whose Vlad?” He responded, twisting his face in confusion. Danny gave him a long, hard look. Neither of them blinked, and he was starting to get worried as to whether or not Danny would actually talk to him.

 Finally, with a sigh Danny turned to walk inside, leaving the door open for him to walk in. “No one,” he grumbled before he trudged into the living room. “Let's chat, clone boy.”

 ∆•∆•∆•∆

 When Danny had asked if anyone knew they were meeting, he hadn’t expected for him to ask to go get Robin from the car for the conversation. “My parents will be out for a while, they got a signal from the other side of town. Might as well take this chance,” he said to brush off the Boy Wonder’s concerns of them having their chat in the living room.

 “So,” Danny started as he clapped his hands together. “Since you haven’t attacked me yet, we can start with your names.”

 “You can call me Rob,” Robin said from the seat next to him.

 “Roy,” he reluctantly gave, to which Danny shook his head looking disappointed.

 “Nope, try again. I asked for your name, not the name of the guy you were cloned from.” Robin stiffened at the mention of the real Roy, having not yet been told about Danny’s earlier comment.

 “How do you know that?” The Boy Wonder questioned, falling into his mentor's way of interrogating.

 Danny just snorted, “You think I don’t know my own soulmate when I see him? This guy isn’t him; I know ‘cause you can’t clone a soul ring.” He held up his left hand, showing the grey band on his middle finger. A jolt of relief surged through him, the ring wasn’t black, Roy was alive!

 “And how are you so sure of that?” Robin prodded, keeping the conversation on track for the two of them so he could have his validation in peace.

 “Wouldn’t you like to know, waterboy,” Danny quoted at Robin before turning back to him. “So, do you have a name yet or do we need to think of one?”

 The question was asked with a tone so soft he thought Danny thought he might break at the suggestion. It was kind, just as kind as he remembered Danny to be. He glanced at Robin before looking at his own hands, uncertain.

 “I… I don’t- I haven’t thought of one yet,” he stuttered, feeling suddenly far too vulnerable. He didn’t want to look up at his originals’ soulmate's face, scared of what he’d see. Funny how he could face world ending threats and yet this civilian from some small ass town in the midwest was the thing that scared him more.

 He heard Danny shift from in front of him as he spoke, “Alright.” The word was spoken so gently he had to look up, just to see if he meant it like that. Pools of ice froze the breath in his lungs as he stared at an expression so full of melancholy. Fuck, why is Danny looking at him like that? Why is he looking at him like he’s seen what he’d done -what he is- and understands?

 Danny is just a civilian, isn’t he?

 Their stare broke as Danny looked to Robin. “So, if you aren’t here ‘cause of Amity’s problems or Vlad, what are you here for?”

 Robin was about to answer, but he cut him off. “We need your help.”

 Those icy-blues turned back to him with a tilt of his head. “Help? What help can I give you?”

 He swallowed, mouth dry, “We need to know anything you know about Roy- the real Roy. It might be a stretch but we’re running out of options.”

 “And why do you think I know anything about where he is when nobody’s told me anything about what you’ve been doing for the last five years?” Danny’s eyes glanced between the two heroes before him. “I mean, I know he’s not dead. I’ve checked more than a few times to make sure. And since I’m pretty sure he’s in the living world I can’t help you magically find him.”

 “Living world?” Robin asked before either of them had the chance to decipher what that could mean.

 Danny looked between the two across from him, face twisted in utter confusion. “You mean after all this time, even when I have two of the Justice league Juniors here-” he lifted his hand to stop whatever denials Robin was going to try to start. “-Yes I know you work with the Justice League, I’d be stupid not to know who works with the ignorant Super Friends when they’ve been ignoring every call for help we’ve sent. You also work in such a similar occupation to the town hero to have been cloned, but that's not the point. The point is, you came to Amity Park, the most haunted place on earth- to Fentonworks- and you haven’t done your research?”

 Silence filled the room as the two heroes looked at each other. What do they even say to that? Apparently Robin knew, as he looked back to Danny, sitting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers over his mouth.

 “How about we all start from the beginning?”

 ∆•∆•∆•∆

 So.

 Ghosts are apparently real. That was not something he expected to have confirmed today. Robin looked to be in a similar state of shock, though the bat-poker face kept his expression level for anyone not used to their microexpressions. Danny had a similar look of contemplation, though much less surprised.

 “So let me get this straight. You-” Danny pointed to him, “-were created five years ago by an evil extension of the American government with funding by an evil-er billionaire. You took Roy’s place so you could make it to the big leagues so that this evil billionaire and his evil friends could gain control of said big leagues. Because Roy had a soul ring and you don’t, they gave you the implanted memory of me dying so you wouldn’t think to check in on me and accidentally throw off your mission. You succeeded in getting control of the Justice League, found out you were actually a clone, then promised to find your original. Now you’re here because you're running out of ways to find him. Did I get all that right?”

 The two heroes nodded dumbly, before Robin piped up. “And let's see if I get what you’re telling us.”

 Danny nodded as Robin took a breath. “So. Ghosts are real. Your town has been dealing with ghosts for the last six years without help from the Justice League because you stopped trying to call for help after year three. Your town hero has fought world destroying beings and gods and no one ever noticed. Five years ago was the last time you heard from Roy, but you know he’s alive because A. You’ve tried looking for him in the literal realm of the dead, and B. Your soul ring hasn't gone black and crumbled yet. Did I miss anything?”

 “You forgot the part where the whole town basically has a bone to pick with the league now ‘cause they never even answered our calls, and the secret government facility trying to capture and experiment on anything with even an ounce of ectoplasm in their systems with a base right outside the town limits.”

 Robin took in another breath and held it. “Right, that too,” he squeaked out.

 Looking back to Danny, he tried to examine him more than he could at the door. Eyebags so deep you could sleep in them, musculature suited for dodging and running, rather than brute strength, faint scarring crisscrossing both arms reaching as far as his collarbones.

 “You fight them,” he realized.

 Danny shrugged, “When I have to, yeah. You won’t find many people in Amity that don’t have these kinds of scars. Even the kids have a few good scrapes here and there.” He looked down then, eyes following the paths his scars made with an expression of someone who’d seen too much for his age. The same kind of look he knew greeted the Team whenever one of them looked in the mirror.

 Heavy silence engulfed the living room as the two heroes tried to come up with something to say to this civilian, to console or apologize or to rectify years of neglect- something. But there was no excuse for this. For what the whole town -for what Danny- had to go through, no words were enough to make that right.

 It wasn’t his place to apologize anyway.

 Instead he stood up, Robin following quickly after. “Well, this was enlightening in more ways than one, but since you can’t tell us where Roy is we have to go find answers somewhere else.” He remarked with no heat, he couldn’t even find it in him to sass.

 He was so hopeful that this would give them something, anything more than just to prove that the real Roy was alive. They found that out, at least, but no clue as to where Luthor might have hidden him. This was their last real lead, even if it was a longshot.

 A noise from behind them had him turning to see Danny following them. “Now where do you think you’re going?” Danny asked them.

 “Back? We need to track down more leads or nothing will be done,” he replied.

 “We also need to report the situation in your town. This was a major oversight, and it needs to be rectified,” Robin added on.

 “Not without me you’re not,” Danny said as he crossed his arms.

 He gave Robin a look of confusion as Danny continued. “I’ve waited this long to hear something about my soulmate and you think I’ll stay put when you tell me he needs help? Fat chance of that.”

 “It’s too dangerous for a civilian,” Robin tried to argue. “If we do find him he’ll be surrounded by highly trained guards. It would devastate Roy if he came back and you weren’t there.”

 “That’s why I’m going,” Danny argued back. “And who said anything about me being a civilian?”

 Before either of them could ask a bright light sprung from Danny's waist, splitting in two and crossing his body. Where the light passed Danny changed, from a t-shirt and jeans to padded cloth and armor. Green eyes stared at them under ethereal snow white hair, accented by a sharp smile.

 “Meet the town hero,” Danny quipped in a voice of static and screams.

~~~~~

Tibet

February 14th 2013,

02:01 BT

 “Your source better not be wrong, Phantom,” Will hissed at the half-ghost as he crouched behind the outer wall of a League of Assassins base.

 “Trust me Will, Dani knows better than to joke about something this serious,” Danny whispered back, scoping the place out from the inside just to make sure. Dani knew how serious this was, sure, but Danny said he still needed to see it with his own eyes.

 It had been a little over two years since Danny had joined Will on his search for his template. Another two years of searching for someone the rest of the League thought was dead, even if the evidence to the contrary wrapped around Danny’s finger. Even Dick and Jim, the two who had held out the longest, had turned their backs on the search. Now it was just him and Danny, and Danny’s clone whenever she decided to give them a lead with a call.

 “One more door,” Danny murmured through the comms. “This door is even more heavily guarded than the others, think this is the one Dani was talking about.”

 It was quiet for a few seconds as Danny bypassed the guards and the door, and the silence stretched longer than Will thought acceptable. “Phantom?” He asked through the line.

 A rough breath enhanced the light static that never seemed to go away with Phantom on comm. It was shaky, and Danny didn’t need to breathe in his ghost form. “Did you find something?” Will asked urgently.

 “It's him,” Danny croaked, before putting a little more force in his words. “It’s him, Will. We found him.”

 Will has wanted to hear those words for the last three years. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream and dance and hug someone. They found him. After three long years they found him.

 Now they just had to get him out of there.

 “Pull back, Phantom,” he ordered. “We’ll have a better time of extracting him if we get rid of the obstacles in the way first.”

 “On it,” Danny responded. Will readied his trick arrows.

~~~~~

 Danny was reading when Roy woke up. He came to slowly, looking around the room first -checking for possible exit strategies- before his eyes fell on Danny. Danny could see a spark of recognition flash by before his face twisted in confusion. He glanced at his ring, then Danny, then did a double take at his lack of right arm. Panic rose in his face, so Danny put his hand over Roy’s, dragging his soulmate’s attention from his amputated limb back to Danny.

 “I know you want to freak out, but how ‘bout we explain a few things first, okay?” He suggested softly, to which Roy shakily agreed.

 With his other hand Danny snatched up his phone, sending a text to Will that Roy was awake. He ran into the room not five minutes later, followed by Oliver Queen, Roy’s mentor and -to Danny’s not so recent knowledge- Green Arrow. Ollie looked almost like he wanted to cry. Will just looked relieved, Danny could sympathize.

 He’s waited too long for this reunion.

 “Great, the whole gang’s here,” Roy quipped, drawing Danny’s attention back to him. “Now can someone tell me why Danny’s here, why there’s another me, and where the hell my arm went‽”

 Will and Ollie glanced at each other in uncertainty, unsure of where to start and how to let him know gently that he’s been asleep for six years. Danny scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gave Roy’s hand a pat and stood up to be next to the other two heroes.

 “Cowards,” he hissed at them before turning to face Roy, who was looking more than a little lost. “Well Roy, It's nice to finally see you again, now buckle up ‘cause this is one hell of a story.”

 ∆•∆•∆•∆

 Danny watched as the other two left the room, before turning back to Roy. For all intents and purposes he looked like a confused teenager that had just been told he was replaced for six years, but the ring on Danny’s finger was blazing with something hotter than confusion and loss.

 “I said I wanted some time alone, Danny,” Roy ground out. His acting was so clear Danny let a chuckle escape his throat as he sat back in his chair.

 “No luck Roy, I’m not leaving you this time.” A glare was shot his way from the boy on the bed, he brushed it off easily with a smile. “I’ve waited this long to be with you again, you really think I’ll leave you alone so you can ghost me?”

 Roy sneered, dropping the act entirely in favour of a glare so strong it would make Vlad quiver in his boots. “You can’t keep me here, not when Luthor needs a beating.”

 “Keep you here?” Danny chuckled, “who said anything about keeping you here? I want to go with you. If I can’t stop you from leaving I can at least make sure you don’t get yourself in another mess you can't get yourself out of.”

 Roy cocked his head, dropping the glare in favour of a confused look. “Danny, not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but you really think you can keep up?”

 Danny looked his soulmate over before he gave a sharp grin, exposing his fangs as he flashed his eyes to green. “If I could keep up with you but older for three years, I can keep up with you for as long as I want.”

 Only the book Danny was reading greeted Will and Ollie when they made their way back to the recovery room.

[dindjarindiaries]

Midnight Confessions

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "Somebody's in love!"

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

Din pauses his work in the midst of the Tatooine night and clutches the tool his gloved hand wields tighter. Across the room, you work in the same relentless way as Din, though your lack of layers in the midnight breeze leaves your body shivering like the frame of the ship you're fixing up. Din sighs; a trip to the marketplace is long overdue.

The tool in Din's hand is set aside as he makes his way over to you. Your gaze only rises from your work when Din places a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink slower than usual as you wait for Din to speak. He clutches his free hand into a fist at his side.

"You're cold." Din's blunt with the delivery of his observation.

You shrug and glance at your work. "It's not too bad. This is Tatooine, after all." Your own chuckle draws a quiet huff from Din's modulator.

"Still." Din takes a hold on your chin to bring your attention back to him, your gaze now meeting his visor as he goes on. "You're tired, too. You need a break."

You offer a soft smile. "I don't really need one."

"Well, you're taking one." Din's tone is decisive as he takes his gloved hands and reaches for the fabric of his cape. He removes it from himself and sets it over your shoulders, like a blanket or a shawl. You clutch the material between your fingers while Din points towards a clear corner of the garage. "Go warm up and get some rest."

Your shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath as your smile remains. "All right." You brush his armored shoulder as you walk past him.

Din turns his helmet and watches you walk over to the spot he pointed out and only returns to his work once you're settled. He's only had his tool back in his hand for a minute or two when he's forced to pay attention to something else. "I can feel you staring."

Peli scoffs, and Din looks up from his work to see her press a half-gloved hand upon her chest. "Me? Staring? Being nosy?" Peli takes a quick look around before she comes closer and lowers her voice. "You're so right."

Din tilts his helmet. "'Nosy?'"

The mechanic gives her eyes a dramatic roll. "Oh, c'mon, Mando! Be real with me." She points at him with her wrench. "I can see that heart on your beskar sleeve."

Din shifts so that his whole body is facing her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Peli leans close and elbows Din's arm with each word she says. "Somebody's in love!"

Din shushes the mechanic and whips his head around to see you leaning against the wall of the garage with your eyes closed. He turns back to Peli and lowers his modulated voice even more than before. "Be quiet, Peli."

"So you're not denying it?" Peli cheers to herself. "I knew it! I've known since you two first came here with that beat-up Razor Crest."

Din raises his gloved hands towards her in warning. "Lower your voice."

"You've got a good one, there. Not just a good one, Mando—a great one. You've got good taste, I gotta' say!"

"Peli." Din sets his gloved hands on her shoulders and tilts his helmet. "Quiet. Please." His modulated voice is just a hushed whisper as he checks over his shoulder again. "They don't know."

Peli stares at Din for a long moment, dumbfounded. She then bursts into laughter that sends Din's chest aflame with panic yet again. Din shifts his weight between his feet.

"Shh, Peli, I'm serious!"

"You think they don't know?" Peli gives her head a shake and nods in your direction. "You might not have told 'em anything yet, but there's no way they don't know."

Din crosses his arms. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

"You're easier to read than you think, Mando." Peli's gaze moves to something beyond Din. "Isn't that right?"

"Sure is."

Din nearly jumps in his own armor as he spins around and sees you standing just behind him. The cape's still wrapped tight around your shoulders as you beam at him. Hot embarrassment warms Din's cheeks underneath his beskar helmet as he holds a breath in his chest. His mind fails to find something meaningful to say as he instead asks the one question pressing upon his mind. "And... you?"

You laugh and reach a hand up to the back of Din's helmet, urging the beskar to meet your forehead. "I'm with you for the long haul, Mando." You give the material of his cape a squeeze. "Only love could make me crazy enough to do that."

Din finally relaxes enough to laugh at that. "Yeah." He takes your hand from his helmet and laces his gloved fingers with yours. "I guess so."

[compacflt]

Home. February 2009.

Mitchell’s got the radio on in the garage—quiet, but still loud enough that he doesn’t hear Kazansky come through the door. He’s working on one of his bikes, crouched low, parts and tools scattered on the concrete around him—but, in typical Maverick fashion, with a method to the madness. Kazansky leans up against the doorjamb and watches him work for a few moments—his intense laser-like focus, even as he’s tapping the toe of a cowboy boot to Duran Duran’s “Rio;” the steadiness of his hands; the way the gears turn so obviously in his head…watching Mitchell think is sometimes as entertaining as a football game. Around others, he makes a point of annoyingly remarking on every little thing; but when he’s by himself, he’s quiet, systematic, methodical. When one piece doesn’t fit, he sets it down and tries the next. The two of them really are more alike than they are different, when it comes down to it.

It takes a few more minutes, but Mitchell finally looks back for something, and catches Kazansky watching him. “Jeez,” he says with a facetious sigh of relief, “you scared me!”

“Your ass is hanging out of those blue jeans, Captain.”

“Oh, yeah?” says Mitchell, standing to hoist them back up. “And how long have you been standing there admiring the view?”

“Either a few seconds or a few hours, depending on who’s asking.” He comes closer. “Whatcha doing?”

Mitchell leans back against his workbench and taps his little crescent wrench against his grease-stained palm. “It’s kinda boring. Just fixing shit. It was long overdue.”

Kazansky shrugs. “Show me. I got time.”

“Well,” says Mitchell, crouching again and gesturing to the gaping-open wheelwell of his bike— “This old girl’s got trouble with her gear shifts. It’s a known issue with Kawasakis. Once you disengage the clutch, sometimes the flywheel slips between fourth and fifth gear and you get stuck there without moving up. Normally it’s not a big deal, I just pull the clutch and slow down a little and then gun it back into gear, but it’s been pissing me off for a decade, so I figured I’d just fix it myself. Ordered a smooth-shifter kit a few weeks back. Now I’m just trying to get it onto the P.V.C. module. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Uh-huh,” says Kazansky, and that’s when he notices that he hasn’t looked at the bike once. Sometimes he gets a kick out of just watching Mitchell talk. “You’re the only one of us with an actual mechanic's license, so take my advice with a grain of salt, but I think the process would go a lot smoother if you actually bothered to read the instruction manual…”

“I have an A. and P. license to work on planes,” Mitchell specifies, “and just our plane in particular.” Then he tosses his head with a smile. “Sure, it might go smoother with instructions. But where’s the fun in that?”

It’s one of those slow little moments where Kazansky isn’t thinking—and, more importantly, when he doesn’t want to think. He rests his hand on Mitchell’s hip, tugs him gently forward, leans down, and kisses him—a little chastely, but only a little—and then can’t control himself away from smiling against Mitchell’s mouth. Keeps his eyes closed. “I just came out here to tell you—I’m hungry, and I was gonna go get food, and to ask you if you wanted anything in particular.”

Mitchell still has a hand on the nape of Kazansky’s neck, a thumb on the shell of his ear. “Let’s do Mexican,” he decides after a second.

“Again? We just had Mexican on Tuesday.”

“I’m a hardworking boy,” he counters, “and I deserve a burrito.”

“Fine,” says Kazansky, already stepping away and fishing out his keys. “I’ll just go downtown. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in forty-five.”

“Oh, you know me, Ice,” says Mitchell, turning back to his precious bike. “I never go anywhere.”

He’s already come back to a laser-focus, his smile dropping; he crouches again and gets back to work, and he really is something of a genius, because he’s putting together this puzzle without even looking at the picture on the box, and so intently focused that he never even notices Kazansky standing in the doorway, watching him work for another three-and-a-half minutes straight.

Many, many years later, Tom will tell Pete he loves him—as he so often will, in those days; it will eventually come to him as easily as breathing—but for once Pete will stop and jokingly reply, “Why? —No, go on, give me a list. Why?”

And that’s such a complicated question Tom won’t know how to respond for a few seconds.

But then he’ll think of moments like this one, moments that at the time had seemed insignificant and forgettable—if not forgettable, then like they should be forgotten—but were of course impossibly important in hindsight. Tom will think of all these little moments, all these little ways they said they loved each other without ever needing to actually say it—and it’ll make him want to cry.

But he won’t, because in the grand scheme of things, moments like this one were always the furthest thing from sad.

He’ll still need to answer Pete’s question. “Well,” he will say slowly, “you might think this is a ridiculous answer, but…you know how you never use instructions when you’re building something…?” —and that’s how the very long list will begin.

[sheep-and-lykos]

In honor of you being in the ER, Bigby x human reader after a Halloween prank goes wrong (hurt reader maybe?)

He swore the chemical stench of the high grade cleaners were going to burn the hair out if his nostrils. He scrunched his nose and tried to drown out the smell by focusing on your scent. It was hard at first, focusing in on your warm and very calming smell through the crowd of people, body fluids and strong cleaners currently wiping down beds and tools.

God, he wanted to light up a cigarette so badly right now.

He swallowed thickly, wincing as it felt as though he was choking on broken glass. He looked around the lobby of the emergency room and saw other people looking just as worried as he was. It also didn't really help that quite a lot of people were dressed up - all of the fake blood splattered across bodies made it hard to tell to the human eye what could be real and fake. Especially with how advanced makeup has become.

Human.

It was like he got punched in the stomach by something bigger and badder than he was.

He was surrounded by humans. Human fluids, human blood. It almost distracted him from the blood that was splattered across his button-up shirt, especially on his sleeves where it pooled at where they bunched up at his elbows.

Your blood.

God, how could he miss that? He reeked of it. He reeked of your blood, of your fucking fear.

The pained look on your face, the shrill fear in your eyes, the way you gasped and cried out in pain while you clutched at the wound that was just made fresh on your skin.

He saw it from afar. He was cursing at himself in the waiting room as both of his knees where bouncing and trembling, he was fiddling with his thumbs as he recounted what happened.

Mundies have a sick sense of humor sometimes. Especially on Halloween.

He watched from afar as some jackass in a cheap devil costume tore through the crowd on a skateboard causing as much chaos as he could. It was an accident, sure, but when Bigby saw how whatever in his bag slam against you and tear at your clothes and skin-

He almost lost it.

If it were up to him, he would track the bastard down and drag him by the cheap fake satin of that red devil robe to the er.

His eyes rolled over the faces of the other Mundies that surrounded him. His ears had long gone deaf to the muddy sounds of people crying, screaming and begging. His nose burned from the stench of too many scents.

He suddenly felt caged.

He felt it stir inside of him. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on edge, an icy chill ran down his spine.

No. Not here. He can't lose it here.

"Mr. Wolf?" a nurse called out into the waiting room. Bigby stood up immediately, intense eyes gla staring down the nurse at the reception desk who looked back at him with an unreadable expression. She blinked unimpressed by his gaze and motioned to the double doors that you disappeared behind over an hour ago with her dumb little Halloween fairy wand. "Through those doors, follow signs for room 258."

Bigby had to control himself. He swallowed and pushed past the heavy doors, nearly knocking into another nurse with a cart of medical supplies. He stumbled through the halls and eventually came up to your little room. The lights were dim and the curtain around your hospital bed was drawn. He saw your ruined costume folded on the guest chair and your shoes tucked underneath it.

He stepped in and closed the door behind himself.

He was gentle when walking towards you, barely peeling back the curtain just enough to peek in to see you barely awake. You were hooked up to an iv bag, donned in a hospital gown, bandaged up and most likely stitched up too. Your eyes opened just enough to see Bigby pulling back the curtain, a faint smile spreading across your lips.

"Hey," you croaked out. "You look like you got beat up."

Bigby couldn't help but crack a smile. His heart twisted in his chest seeing you like this. You looked so… fragile. It wasn't like he didn't know you were a Mundy too, but he also never thought he would see you like this. To see you hurt. It made him feel something awful inside.

A part of him deep down inside suddenly rotted inside of him. It felt horribly cold in his core, with guilt or fear, he couldn't tell. He could hear it degrading him, telling his subconscious lies. You were a Mundy, he was a Fable- hell, he was a fucking werewolf and you were human. Something inside of him screamed that he shouldn't be with you, and only seeing you hurt made the knife twist more in his gut.

He knew what everyone else thought of his relationship with you, alot of the other fables made it very obvious with their disgust. But he really didn't give a shit. Even as you laid before him, barely awake from the pain medication you were on, he still found you to be just as enchanting as the day you both met.

"You scared me there for a second," his eyes looked you over again. His brows pinched together. "You went limp for a minute when I was bringing you in. It… scared the shit out of me."

It was your turn to look like a worried puppy, looking up at him with those eyes that make him see beauty in everything.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't." His hand came down to grasp at your hand, encasing it with his own warm paw. "I'm sorry you got you hurt."

You smiled weakly up at him.

"Thank you."

[ohthatstragic]

Feelings - p.m

a/n:  here is another fluffy mav fic.. :3 sorry i’m a sucker for admitting how you feel to him. i promise i have different ones 😭 send me ideas?.. 👉🏼👈🏼 i didn’t have time to proof read this so pls don’t kill me 💔

also pls don’t repost or translate any of my work.. i don’t give you permission to do that.

pairings: maverick x reader

wc:  <;2,300

warnings: hangman being annoying, mav making you jump, i don’t think there’s anything else lmfao

summary: having feelings/the hots for mav and hangman notices, then so does phoenix..

My fingers were grasping the pool cue as I leaned over the table, lining up my shot. Suddenly, I felt like someone was unnecessarily close to me. "I saw how you were lookin' at Pops, Y/C/S." Hangman mumbled in my ear, glancing between my pool cue and my frustrated eyes. I felt his hot breath on my neck, tickling my lobe like an annoying stray strand of hair.

"Do you mind, Bagman?" I retorted back quietly. "Trying to sink the winning shot here." I grit my teeth, ignoring his previous comment. If I don't entertain it, he'll forget about it. I'm praying that some random hot woman walks into the bar right now - the man's only weakness. Please God, make some hot bimbo stroll in here.

Hangman held his hands up in defence and slowly retreated backwards, the void of his presence leaving a scent of his strong cologne in the air. As I pulled my arm back to hit the shot, Hangman shouted from behind me. "Hey Mav, mind getting us another round? It's your turn next." He shouted, giving me a fright from the sudden noise. My arm shot forward in instinct, thus whiffing the shot and most likely losing the game. I was up against Coyote and the man never misses. I let out a grunt of annoyance and instantly turned around to face Hangman, my blood boiling as my twitching eyes met his smug face. I raised the pool cue at him, pointing it at his neck.

"Are you really that fucking brainless, Seresin?" I seethed, trying to remain calm and keep my cool. He slowly raised a hand, pushing the pool cue away from his neck with the back of his hand, moving closer towards me.

"That really got you fired up, huh?" Hangman taunted me, smirking. "You really do-" I quickly cut him off with my sharp tone.

"Can it, Hangman." I sighed, turning back around to see Coyote standing and facing me with another smug look on his face. He leant against the table, pool cue in front of his body with his hands clasped around it.

"GGs, Y/C/S. Shame though." He winked at me, in which I rolled my eyes in return. A short chorus of cheers came from Bob, Fanboy and Payback who were sat to the far right of Phoenix and Coyote. I whipped my head towards them with a sharp look and they soon went silent, busying themselves with the condensation on their beer bottles. "Better luck next time."

"GGs, Coyote," I said, reaching for my glass of whiskey which was sat on the bar table beside me. I swung it back, swallowing the last couple gulps of it. I sat it back down with a thud, and exhaled quietly, enjoying the intensifying burn in my throat. "I'll be back." I said curtly, side-eyeing Jake as I walked off.

Within a couple moments I reached the bar, my forearms making contact with the cool wooden surface as I leant against it. I groaned to myself. "Rough night?" A familiar voice suddenly said, making me jump. They laughed at my reaction.

"Jesus, Mav, don't do that." My hand rushed to clutch my chest and steadied my now-racing heart beat. I swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the nervous feeling within me. Hangman was right. "And sort of, just Hangman being a tool." I grumbled.

"Nothing new then." Maverick's lips curled into a grin, flashing his pearly whites at me. I couldn't hide the smile that formed on my face as I looked at the older pilot. "What are you having?" He asked, eyeing my empty hands.

"Whiskey." I pursed my lips, looking away from the handsome aviator. I glanced at the surface that my fingers were tapping against and then back to Mav, who cocked a brow, trying to hide his amusement.

"Damn, Hangman really must be taking it out of you!" Maverick laughed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, another grin breaking out on his face. I joined in with his laughter and shook my head vigorously. As I was about to reply, he spoke again. "Hey Penny, can you add a whiskey to that, please?" The captain asked, leaning over the bar so his request reached the bartender we all know so well. My eyes widened as he finished his question. Penny gave him a thumbs up to Maverick as she was popping the tops off the beers.

"Hey!" I gasped, staring at Maverick in disbelief. A smug smile only creeped onto his lips as he sipped his beer like nothing happened. "Mav, you didn't have to do that." I sighed, feeling a little guilty. The man's earnings literally just go down the drain here. I reached into my back pocket, searching for a rogue five dollar note.

"It's not a problem, Y/C/S," He said, holding his hand up to refuse my non-verbal offer as his eyes fell to my hand fishing in my back pocket. "I'm getting the next round anyway, so it's only fair." He shrugged, trying to suppress the smirk that was so obviously forming on his face. I looked away from the pilot, trying to conceal the blush that was flowering on my cheeks.

"Alright." I nodded, suddenly having an idea pop into my head. "At least let me help you carry them back and buy you a drink afterwards?" I folded my arms against my chest and Maverick chuckled, shaking his head. I frowned and my arms unfolded as I threw them up in defiance. "Oh come on, old man!"

"Nope." He finished the rest of his beer, his lips popping on the rim of the bottle. In perfect timing, Penny served the open beers and Maverick stood up, his head reaching a couple inches above me. I felt a pool of heat suddenly writhe in the pit of my stomach. He slid my whiskey towards me with a wink, and a smile I couldn't stop broke out on my face. I swallowed again, trying to hide the blush that was threatening to turn redder. Son of a bitch. "Thanks Penny." He said, sending her a kind smile, she only nodded with a grin before moving onto her next customers. My fingers clutched the glass of whiskey in my hand as Maverick somehow picked up all seven bottles in his arms, and started on his way towards the group. I groaned and followed him.

"There he is!" Hangman cheered at Maverick as he reached the table, setting down the bottles of beer. "Much appreciated, Pops." He smirked, grabbing a bottle from the table, and the rest of the squad soon followed suit. A series of thanks was said.

I settled myself between Phoenix and Bob, my eyes locked on the captain across the room. He was laughing heartily at something Rooster said, his eyes creasing and nose wrinkling. I looked away at the heart-warming sight, trying to ignore the feelings bubbling up inside me. A soft gasp came from beside me. "Oh my god, Seresin was right..." Phoenix suddenly said from beside me, her eyes widening in joy and surprise.

"What?" I said as my eyes darted to hers in confusion. My brows instantly knitted together and I sipped on my drink. My heart dropped as I realised what she was talking about, making my eyes go wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"You've got a thing for Maverick!" She laughed and poked my sides and I squeaked, almost choking on my drink.

"Shh!" I hushed my close friend, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side. "Look, yeah, it's true. I do have a... 'thing' for Maverick," I sighed, closing my eyes momentarily to curse myself for doing such a thing. "But nothing will come of it, nothing can." I shrugged, sipping my whiskey again and stealing a glance at Maverick from across the room. My breath hitched in my throat as I saw he was already looking over here, although he quickly redirected his gaze elsewhere.

"Wait," Phoenix scoffed, brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes locked with my glass of whiskey. "Did he buy you a drink?" She asked, a Cashmere Cat-like grin spreading on her face.

"Yeah." I shrugged, not really understanding why she was grinning like a character from Alice in Wonderland. "He was buying a round anyway." I added.

"Y/C/S, buying a round is usually only beers." Phoenix couldn't hide the excitement on her face. "You should go talk to him." I rolled my eyes at her suggestion, but my eyes soon found Maverick again as he patted Rooster on the shoulder, heading towards the bar doors towards the beach. I looked back at Phoenix, who had already followed my gaze the second I looked away. I sighed in defeat. "Now is the perfect time!" She sing-songed, widening her eyes at me.

"Alright, alright," I groaned, swinging back another sip of whiskey. "Wait, what if he doesn't feel the same way, Phoenix? Then what?" I questioned, nibbling on my lower lip.

"He will, just trust me." She placed a firm hand on my shoulder, staring me in the eyes.

Fuck my life. I groaned again to myself and set my glass of whiskey down, and headed for the beach doors. "Okay, just breathe," I muttered as I pushed the doors open, darkness surrounding me. The loud noise of the bar disappeared and the white door clicked shut as I slowly walked out into the colder air. Looking up, I saw thousands upon millions of bright stars in the sky, all shining perfectly. The sand was lukewarm beneath my feet as I wandered further forward, my eyes searching the beach to try and spot Maverick. A feeling of defeat started to engulf me as I wondered whether he decided to go home instead. "Thanks, Phoenix." I grumbled, letting my head loll back to look up at the painted night sky again.

"What did Phoenix do?" That familiar voice asked, making me jump again. I whipped around to see Maverick, who had a confused smile on his face. All negative feelings suddenly disappeared from my body and I felt warm inside as I looked at him.

"Stop doing that!" I smiled, playfully pushing against his chest. It was harder and firmer than I thought it would be which took me by surprise.

"I'm sorry." He said, before nodding at me. "Your callsign definitely fits you." He chuckled. I blushed, wrinkling my nose at him for a split second. "What are you doing out here?" He finally asked.

"Um," I choked. "I actually came to find you." I admitted, lifting my foot and tucking it behind my opposing leg as the cold night wind whipped my hair across my face. "I-I have to tell you something." Maverick looked a little concerned now which wasn't really helping.

"What is it, Y/N?" Maverick softened his tone this time. My heart warmed at the use of my real name, and I smiled weakly, relishing in the moment before disaster hit.

"I, uh," I stumbled over my words, trying to find the confidence to speak them. "I sort of have feelings for you." I finally said, feeling the blood drain from my face. I couldn't meet Maverick's eyes; too afraid of what I'd see. The silence was too long, and so I forced myself to look up, finding the captain in front of me, his hand reaching up to brush my hair behind my ear. My mouth was slightly agape in shock, and I couldn't speak. "Am I dreaming?" I mumbled, mainly to myself, but Mav heard me.

"No, sweetheart," He hummed, staring at me like I was the most delicate thing in the world right now. The pet name set my heart alight. "You have no idea how many times I've thought about this moment, Y/N." He mumbled, setting his other hand on my waist. A smile formed on my lips as I leaned towards him, slowly. Pete copied me, his hot breath caressing my cheeks. My tongue poked out to wet my lips as he gently brought my face to his, connecting our lips. He kissed me softly, and I melted under his touch. My hands reached up to snaked around his neck as I relaxed into him, pressing my body against his. Maverick pulled away and his eyes studied my face ever so slowly, meeting my eyes.

"I.." I muttered, absolutely speechless. Never did I think that I was going to kiss my captain tonight. The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled at me again, placing a kiss on my nose. As I giggled at his gesture, a cold breeze of wind whipped past me. I shivered in which Maverick quickly removed his green bomber jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

"Better?" He asked, running another gentle hand through my wind-whipped hair. I bravely pressed another kiss to his lips, to which he graciously accepted. "C'mon, let's head back inside."

"Okay," As we turned around to head back, the whole squad was staring out through the windows and they instantly cheered and whistled at us as we stared at them.

"Pops' still got it!" Hangman whooped from the stairs, his hand gripping the rail as he threw his other hand in the air. Mav's hand found it's way to my waist as we walked back towards them. He pulled me close into his side and I melted into it, laying my head upon his chest; smile beaming.

As we walked inside the bar again, the squad reassembled and began to argue over the pool table and who was playing next. Maverick gently pulled me to the side, a grin forming on his lips. "Still cold?" He asked playfully and stared into my eyes.

"Maybe just a little." I teased, narrowing my eyes at him with a mischievous smile. He hummed before cocking a brow, walking backward to a chair and plonking himself down in it. His hand patted his lap as a smirk broke out on his face. I bit my lip and sauntered towards him, placing myself in his lap, hands snaking around his neck again. "Comfy?" I giggled.

"Definitely." He mumbled with a grin, stealing another kiss from my lips. My heart was happy and I was absolutely ecstatic. I had to remember to thank Phoenix after we leave.

"Get a room, Mav!" Rooster hollered from the other side of the room, an amused grin on his lips.

my masterlist

how to request something

[smurphyse]

The View from Here

Oneshot

Smurph's Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Neighbor!Reader

Wordcount: 1372

Warnings: drunken flirting, awkwardness, hangovers, lots of fluff

Summary: Reader locks herself out of her apartment when she comes home drunk, and her handsome neighbor comes to the rescue

Stumbling up the steps to your apartment, you struggled to stay upright. Your wobbly legs refused to cooperate, ignoring your grumbling pleas that they just make it a few more steps.

When you finally cleared the second floor landing, you let out a little cheerful chuckle, holding your fists up in victory. The floor swayed beneath you, and you found yourself tumbling to the side. 

Your shoulder connected with your neighbor's door, or at least you thought there may be a neighbor there but you never saw anyone leave or enter the place. 

"Sorry!" you called, waving a hand in apology at nobody. 

You got to your feet and leaned against your own door jam, and a groan of annoyance left you as you realized you left your purse and keys in your friend's car. 

Luckily your phone was still in the pocket of your jeans, so you whipped it out and drunkenly squinted at the screen as you texted her.

Frgt keys purse. Need keys dude.

She lived down the street, and no doubt was already in bed from the time it took you to stumble up the stairs. 

The clicking of a door behind you made you yelp in surprise, and soon enough you landed heavily on your ass in front of your apartment. 

"What the hell is going on out here?" a voice came from above. You smacked your lips drunkenly and dragged a hand down your face. 

"Look, dude, I'm not having a great night," you mumbled stupidly. "If you could yell at me tomorrow for waking yo-."

The words died in your throat as you saw your neighbor for the first time. Dressed in only a pair of checkered pajama pants, he glared down at you with his hand on his hip. 

He had fuzzy, bed-rumpled hair and a bit of stubble along his jaw. With those golden hazel eyes and crook of his annoyed brow, you couldn't help yourself. 

"Wow, you're really pretty."

The man blinked slowly, and then burst into laughter. He clutched his fuzzy naked tummy, and all you wanted to do in your alcohol-fueled haze was run your fingers through his happy trail. 

"And you're really drunk," he chuckled as it died down. "Do you need help up?"

You shrugged and blew a raspberry with your lips, "I left my keys in my friend's car. This stoop is my bed tonight."

He opened his pretty pink lips, then snapped his jaw shut. Glancing back into his apartment, he sighed, then looked down at you again. 

"Stay right there," he told you, disappearing into the dark foyer that probably looked a lot like your own. 

"Where else am I supposed to go?" you slurred to no one in particular. 

Leaning your head back against the door, you closed your eyes. You were too drunk and he was too pretty, and your head swam with the thought of his big hands all over you. 

They looked rough, and maybe he would be too, but you bet he was gentle while he did so. Your drunken brain didn't know how else to explain that, but you knew what you meant. 

"Hey, wake up," his voice came again, and when you opened your eyes he was kneeling in front of you. 

"Oh fuck," you grunted, rubbing your hands over your face. 

"Are you gonna throw up? Please don’t do it on me."

"No," you groaned, "you smell way too good."

"Oh," he blushed, and you couldn't help it when you reached out and poked the tip of his nose. 

He smelled like cinnamon and musk, and you sighed as you wondered if he smelled like that everywhere. 

"Let's… let's get you inside," he said, and you noticed the little leather pouch in his hand. 

He pulled out a few tiny tools and held them up to your doorknob. Soon enough, there was a familiar click as the latch unlocked.

"Are you a murderer?" you slurred, frowning at him, "Am I about to be murdered?"

He chuckled softly and shook his head, "I'm an FBI agent."

"And I'm the Queen of Sheba," you snickered in response. 

The man sighed and held out his hand, and even though realistically you may have been about to be murdered, you took it. 

He helped you to your feet, resting his strong hands on your shoulders to keep you steady as you slumped against the door frame. 

You pointed at him,  struggling to keep your finger angled directly at him, "You know, they say Bundy was hot, but I never saw the appeal. You'd be a pretty serial killer, give him a run for his money."

"Uh," he said, making a face. "Thanks?"

"Anytime, sunshine," you smirked, and you patted his naked chest with the flats of your palms. God, he was soft and hard and you wanted nothing more than to fall right into him. "Now, if you're not going to kill me, I'm going to go throw up."

"You do that," he laughed breathily. When you stumbled inside, he locked the door from the inside and shut it behind him. 

Sure enough, you made your way to the bathroom and threw your breakfast, dinner, liquid dinner, and pride up into the toilet. 

-------------

The next morning was rough. 

You woke up on the bathroom floor, sweaty and sticky and freezing cold all at the same time. With shaking hands, you stripped and crawled into the bathtub, letting the water wash away your night and take it down the drain. 

Feeling a bit better, you made yourself a pot of coffee, leaning heavily against the counter as you watched it take a year and a half to percolate. 

You popped a few excedrin with your burning hot coffee, clad in only an oversized tee and some comfy underwear, and made your way to your balcony. 

You could see all of DC from here, or at least it felt like it. Your building was only four stories high, and many others towered above it, but the skyline was clear.

Today it was shadowed in amber and violet rays, a stream of blue making its way up from the darkness and bringing with it a brand new day. 

You leaned against the balcony and sipped your coffee, the pinch between your eyebrows easing with every flow of God's blessed liquid making its way over your tongue. 

"Good morning, your majesty," a voice came from the left, making you jump. 

The guy from last night, who you could hazily see in your drunken memories, leaned against his own balcony just a few feet away. He palmed an FBI coffee mug and smirked at you. 

He wore a blue button up under a deep heather cardigan, with a red scarf that didn't really match over his checkered pajama pants... but boy did he still look good.

"Ohh, pretty boy," you smiled, heat flushing your cheeks at the embarrassing things you said last night. "You're really an FBI agent, huh?"

"Yup," he said, and he took a cheeky sip of his coffee. "My name's Spencer, though."

"Y/N," you replied, toasting your mug his way. 

You watched one another awkwardly for a moment, but his grin never left his face. You felt yourself becoming a bit brave, even without the alcohol.

You pointed at the skyline, "The view is better from my balcony… if you wanna come over and not murder me. An apology for last night."

"Yeah, I can't see you very well from over here," he smirked back, and you blushed furiously when you realized what he meant. 

You were the view, and he was the pretty boy FBI agent. 

"I'll unlock the door."

Spencer picked up the leather bag from last night and shook it with a grin, "Stay right there."

He disappeared inside, and you laughed into your cup. Soon enough there was the clicking of the lock, and Spencer strode through your sliding door with the pouch in one hand and his coffee in the other. 

"Damn," he said, stopping in his tracks. 

You frowned at him, trying and failing to hold back a smile, "What?"

"Yeah, this view is way better," he said softly, and then he was taking a step forward. His chest nearly bumped yours as he smiled down at you.

You grinned back, drinking in the scent of cinnamon wafting from him and his coffee. 

"I think so, too."

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